The Price of Freedom (11 page)

His relationship to Bruce had never been publicly acknowledged. Bryan had gained a reputation as a fierce warrior and a man of honor. Few people, whether they knew his parentage or not, dared to insult him for any reason.

Yet this woman had the audacity to do just that. And he'd completely lost his senses and made marriage sound like a mercenary payment, a duty to be performed. No woman wanted to hear such a thing. They wanted declarations of undying love, or at the least, gentle words of kindness. Hadn't she said as much?

But he feared soft words and kindness—they would weaken him—weaken his resolve to keep his emotions disengaged.

The room seemed to shrink; he craved open space and fresh air. Bryan found Adam and Thomas and in as few words as possible told them he was going to Bruce's camp and would return tomorrow night.

Thomas objected. “I'll go with you.”

“I'm in no mood for company, Thomas.”

“Fine. I won't talk to you. But you'll not ride out alone.”

Adam said, “He's right—”

“All right. All right. Saddle up, Thomas, and be quick about it.”

Then Bryan fled the castle, looking neither right nor left, and returned to the stable. He needed to put time and space between himself and that woman, time to clear his head and rein in his temper.

And any other misbegotten emotions that threatened to surface.

His stallion whinnied a welcome at Bryan's return. “Steady, lad. Since you seem to be sound again, let's take a good run today,” he said. He placed the bit in the stallion's mouth and pulled the bridle stall over the animal's ears. With practiced movements he finished saddling, led the horse out of the barn and then mounted and urged the horse into a trot. When they'd cleared the drawbridge he set his heels to the animal's side and Cerin responded with a spirited canter, Thomas following behind.

Despite the distraction of the powerful horse beneath him and the scenery passing by, Bryan's thoughts returned to his confrontation with Kathryn. He leaned low over the great beast's neck and said, “By the saints, Cerin, why didn't I tell her about my vow?”

Bryan had never told anyone of his resolve not to marry until the war was over. Until Kathryn, he'd never been tempted, so there'd been no need. Now, saints help him, Robert the Bruce had placed temptation squarely in Bryan's path.

Angrily, he cursed his king and the sky above for handing him such provocation—honeyed tresses, gold-flecked brown eyes, and a feminine form that made him long for the intimacies of marriage.

Obviously Kathryn didn't want him. Fine. He didn't need a woman to complicate his life. And Kathryn would surely disturb his ordered existence—she'd already disturbed him more than he'd thought possible.

Robert would understand—Bryan would explain everything. He wasn't sure it would do any good, but he had to try. Aye, he'd explain how he couldn't marry such a beautiful, wealthy, exciting woman, if he could just find a way to put it into words.

He spurred Cerin on and arrived at the hideout just before evening. Thomas took the horse and, knowing the animal would be well cared for, Bryan strode toward the tent where the king's standard blew lazily in the breeze.

Not surprisingly, the king met him at the tent's entrance and invited him in. Bruce clapped Bryan on the shoulder. “Come in, join us. Ceallach is here.”

Bryan entered, knowing his discussion would have to wait until the other man left. He nodded to Ceallach and took a seat at the table. The open cask of wine and half-empty chalices indicated a celebration in progress.

“What news, my laird?” Bryan had left the main force to take Homelea and despite his need to resolve his problem with Kathryn, now hungered for a report on how Bruce's army had fared during his absence. He poured himself some water as Ceallach said, “Perth has fallen.”

Bryan's instincts as a soldier overcame his personal needs. “You had the town surrounded when I left—no access in or out!” he said incredulously. Bruce had no artillery or siege weapons to batter down the walls. And many of his troops were highlanders such as himself who didn't take well to static warfare. “How did you get inside?”

Bruce grinned. Even the taciturn Ceallach smiled, and Bryan knew he was going to regret not being part of this particular adventure.

Ceallach continued. “Actually, Bruce ordered us to retreat and we packed up and marched away. You'll recall the heavy woods two miles off?”

Bryan nodded, eager to hear the rest.

“We hid there and constructed rope ladders to scale the ramparts. We spent eight days there in the woods to allow the garrison at Perth to let down their guard. Then on a pitch-dark night we sneaked back to the edge of the moat. The king himself crept through the icy water, testing the depth with his spear until he crossed to the other side. The rest of us followed, climbed the ropes, and took the town by surprise!”

“Well done!” Bryan exclaimed.

“That's not all,” Bruce added. “In addition to Homelea, the castles of Buittle and Caerlavrock are now ours as well. All that remains is Stirling.”

At mention of this great fortress the mood of all three men dampened somewhat. No one wanted to mention the impossible agreement Bruce's brother had made with the commander there. The Scots had learned their lesson early on at Methven that England's superior numbers and armament would triumph on a traditional battlefield. When Bruce observed that spider in the cave at Carrick, he'd devised the strategy he'd used for the next seven years. Bruce had waged war against the English, on his terms—fighting in small skirmishes, with strategic targets, and using the lay of the land to their advantage.

Then last April Robert had sent his brother Edward—always an impatient and hotheaded warrior—to lay siege to the impregnable fortress at Stirling. After three months Edward, bored with the static nature of a siege, had made a foolish bargain with Sir Philip Mowbray, the castle's commander. If Edward of England did not come to Stirling's rescue by midsummer a year hence, then Mowbray would yield the castle freely. When Mowbray agreed, Edward took his troops off to find more exciting work. Without consulting either of their monarchs, the two men pledged their honor to fulfill this treaty.

Robert had been outraged at his brother's actions, but there was nothing to be done without sacrificing his brother's honor. Bruce was now compelled to meet Edward II in pitched battle, and the odds were very much against the Scots.

Bryan broke the silence with a change of subject. “What of our negotiations with Ceallach's . . . friends?”

Bruce answered, “The arms will arrive at Homelea within the week. I need you and Adam to secure the weapons and make sure the wagons reach Stirling. Keith will take command of the cavalry in your absence. Ceallach and I will leave for Stirling in two days to begin training the men and to plan our strategy.”

“Am I to ride with you?”

“You should be busy with wedding preparations,” Bruce said.

“We need to talk about that, Your Majesty.” Bruce nodded in acknowledgment. The men emptied their goblets and then they stood as Ceallach bid them goodbye and departed the tent, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind him.

Robert paused, studying Bryan's face. “You are angry.”

Angry and, if Bryan cared to admit it, confused. Even the long ride here and the discussion of the battle facing them hadn't eased his conflict. “Why didn't you offer Homelea to Douglas? Or Randolph?” he asked bluntly.

“I have already made Randolph the Earl of Moray and have given him lordship of the Isle of Man. Douglas has his own lands and title.”

“Why me, then?”

“As I told you, I wish to reward a loyal and worthy retainer. You deserve the earldom, Bryan, and none would begrudge you.” Robert frowned. “You may have to rebuild before you can retire there in peace, but it is yours nonetheless.”

Robert indicated the chairs next to a somewhat wobbly table. “Come, sit down and tell me what troubles you about becoming an earl.”

Bryan returned to his seat, trying to formulate his objections to wedding Kathryn. The king poured himself a goblet of wine before suggesting, “Perhaps it's the title of husband that doesn't suit. Is she not comely?” Robert asked.

Bryan groaned. If only she weren't. “She is beautiful,” he admitted quietly.

“Then she's a shrew?” Robert jested.

“She is more than a little stubborn, quite intelligent, and desperately in need of protection.” The truth was, he wanted her —wanted her in a way he'd never desired a woman before. His vow at Carrick might easily disappear on the wind unless he held tight to it.

And then there was the vow he'd made in Homelea's courtyard when he'd first set eyes on Kathryn. Kathryn, with Carleton's mark still fresh upon her beautiful face. Did the second vow cancel the first? Of course not. He could certainly protect her from harm without relinquishing his heart.

Couldn't he? That was a very good question—one he wasn't sure he could answer at the moment. Not with the vision of her standing toe to toe with him in defiance clouding his brain.

“So, you care for her. It could be worse.”

“She doesn't want anything to do with someone so far beneath her station. Nor do I need to be bothered with the baggage of a wife,” Bryan declared.

“Ah, her opinion must have stung. So you do care for her.”

Bryan stood and paced. “If you're asking do I want to . . . am I attracted to her, then yes, I care for her.”

“Physical craving and caring are different.”

“So you've told me.” Bryan studied his king. His father. The memory of that day in the hills of Carrick came back to him. The news of death and capture and his vow not to marry were all vivid in his mind. “What do you hear from the queen?”

Bruce hesitated. “She fares as well as one might expect after eight years of captivity. She has little in the way of furniture or clothing.” Bruce hid his pain well but Bryan ached for him.

“And the others?”

Bruce said, “Mercifully they've been treated kindly enough since those bitter months spent in cages. Marjory,” he hesitated, drew a breath. “My daughter is at the nunnery at Walton. Her health is precarious.”

Bryan stared at his hands a moment. “If you had it to do over again, knowing she would be taken from you, would you still have married Elizabeth?”

Bryan saw the shadow pass over Robert's face, and regretted the pain his question had caused. But Robert must be made to realize what he asked of Bryan in arranging this marriage. He did care for Lady Kathryn, far more than he wanted to admit. However, he wasn't sure marriage to him was in her best interest, under the circumstances.

The two men stared at each other, then Bruce answered Bryan's question. “I'm glad I didn't know then how it would all come to pass, because in truth, I might not have married Elizabeth and thus would have denied myself her love. But sometimes, the hope of seeing her again is all that keeps me going.”

Bryan sat back down. He didn't know how to respond to such a candid answer.

Robert broke the uncomfortable silence. “Now, explain to me why you can't marry a beautiful, intelligent, and wealthy woman. Surely your pride was not so wounded that you cannot get past it. Surely you can find a way to persuade the lady?”

Bryan shook his head. “I'm a warrior. What have I to offer her?” He huffed. “I've sworn to safeguard her. Isn't that enough?”

Robert's gaze was direct. “Perhaps. But the war can't last forever, Bryan. When it is done, you will need a woman to come home to, somewhere to reside in peace to nurse your wounds and heal your soul.”

Bryan sipped his water. “I could just as easily make a widow of her. Already Rodney Carleton has sworn to seek revenge for taking what he considers his.” He had never spoken of his vow. Now he must. “That day in the hills of Carrick, when Lady Christian came to us?”

“I remember.”

“You . . . I . . . 'twas the darkest moment of my life, my laird.”

“And mine.” Bruce's voice was somber.

Bryan gripped the table until his knuckles turned white. “I vowed that day I would not marry until Scotland is free. I don't know if I can face what you have endured and still go on.”

Robert studied him before replying, “So that is why you've guarded your heart so closely.” He bowed his head and toyed with his wedding ring. “The woman finds your lack of noble lineage distasteful?”

“So she says.”

Robert rubbed his forehead above his brows, head bowed. When he looked up, he said, “I told you I have no regrets about marrying Elizabeth. But I am not proud of all my actions, Bryan. I have not always acted according to God's will when it came to my . . . carnal appetites.”

Bruce jerked to his feet and now he paced the confines of the tent. “Do you remember your mother, Bryan?”

Shocked speechless, Bryan stammered, “Yes, of course.”

“What do you know of her?”

Bryan swallowed. “That she was gently born but impoverished and served in your father's house.” There would have been no question of Robert marrying her—she was little more than a servant and could not bring wealth or a political alliance to Bruce's powerful family. “Such relationships are not uncommon among the nobility.”

“That doesn't make them right.”

“No. But you didn't abandon her.”
Or me.
Many noblemen ignored their by-blows, but despite his youth, Bruce had accepted responsibility for Bryan's welfare. Even when Bryan's mother married William Mackintosh and moved to Moy, Bruce sent money.

And when Bryan's mother died, Bruce had sent for him, made him part of the Bruce household as Robert's page. Robert himself had taught him to wield the claymore and battle-axe along with the other skills necessary to become a successful warrior.