The Rock (45 page)

The cry of alarm was sounded, but with the noise from Bruce’s diversionary attack at the gate, not enough soldiers were able to respond to the real threat: the men who were now inside the castle.

The fighting was fierce and bloody, and more difficult than it might have been for Bruce’s men were they not worn from the strenuous, almost three-hundred-foot climb. A few of Randolph’s Highlanders from Moray fell alongside the English, and Randolph himself, in his second narrow escape of the night, barely avoided a well-aimed English spear.

But when they reached the south gate to open it for the rest of the army, the battle was won. The English fought with unusual ferocity, but once their commander fell with the initial swarm of men surging into the castle, they quickly surrendered.

The cheer that went up when Bruce’s men knew the castle was theirs was something Thom would never forget. The sense of euphoria, accomplishment, and joy was overwhelming.

One of the first men to congratulate him was the king himself. Bruce threw his arms around him and might have spun him around were Thom not so powerfully built. “Your feat of bravery this night will be rewarded! What say you, Sir Thomas?”

Thom stilled. “Sire?”

Bruce smiled and slapped him on the back. “You’ve earned your knighthood, lad. And”—he paused, with an eye to the man who’d just come up beside them—“I’d wager a place with this bunch.”

MacLeod frowned at the king. The formidable leader of the Highland Guard had been in the heat of the battle the entire time, but you would never know it from looking at him. He looked cool, unruffled, and untouched. “I thought asking was my job.”

Bruce shrugged unrepentantly. “Royal prerogative.”

MacLeod didn’t look like he agreed but turned to Thom. “Aye, the king is right. I’d seen enough after what you did at Dunbar, but what you did tonight has only solidified it. You have earned a place with us if you want it.” His mouth curved in what was almost a smile. “Assuming you make it through Perdition, that is.”

From how MacLeod said it, Thom surmised it was a big assumption. But he had no doubt he would do whatever it took. “I want it.”

What a prodigious understatement. He felt a sense of satisfaction that dwarfed even the feeling of climbing Castle Rock. In many ways, it was a higher climb. He’d done it. Actually, he’d done more than he set out to do. Not only would he be a knight, he’d earned his way into the most elite army in Christendom.

All those times someone told him it was impossible, all those knocks, cuts, and bruises, all the hours he’d spent pulling himself out of the dirt, all the digs about his birth, all the times he’d wanted to give up . . .

Christ, it was sweet. Only one thing would have made it sweeter. Fury swept through him for thinking about her at all.

“I only wish that we’d thought of a climber before,” the king said with a shake of his head. “It seems so obvious. If we’d had you with us years ago, we would have had a much easier time taking back some of our castles.” He laughed. “We can talk about this tomorrow. But now we celebrate!”

The king clapped him on the back again and practically danced him around the yard. It was one of the biggest moments in his kingship, and Bruce was determined to enjoy every minute of it. All but one of Scotland’s great castles was now wrested from English hands. When King Edward marched his men to battle in June, they would not have the mighty Edinburgh Castle to protect them. Bruce’s chances for victory had just taken a big step forward.

Though it was the middle of the night, from the church tower a bell was rung. What remained of the castle larder was raided and brought to the Great Hall. Casks of ale and wine were carried up from the cellars—more than they expected—and despite the abstinence of the season, the drinking went on well into the wee hours of the morning.

By the time Thom crawled into bed, he wasn’t just a soon-to-be knight and member of the Highland Guard, he was also a baron of lands in Roxburghshire. The magnitude of what he’d achieved stunned him.

But he had only a few hours of sleep before he was awakened again.

The fact that it was his new Chief didn’t stop him from cursing and rolling over, pulling the wool blanket over his head.

The fierce Islander chuckled—it wasn’t a sound Thom had ever heard from MacLeod before and the novelty even broke through his exhausted haze. He pulled back the blanket and cranked open one eye.

“Hail, Caesar. It’s time to get up and put on your laurel. Rome is waiting. You don’t want to sleep through your own triumph.”

It was far too early for jests. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ll have to see for yourself.”

A short while later Thom did. The high street from the castle to Holyrood Abbey was lined with a cheering mob—the citizens of Edinburgh had taken to the streets to show their support of the king and celebrate yet another miraculous feat that would perhaps be the crowning achievement in what was to become the almost mythical legend of the Bruce.

Randolph was being hailed as a conquering hero, and Thom, for his part, as the man who had made it all possible. His role as the warrior who’d climbed the unclimbable had been impossible to keep secret. His name was being bandied everywhere, and everyone wanted to see the smith’s son from Douglas who’d climbed to the highest peak and set this latest miracle into action.

When he, Randolph, and some of the other men from Moray appeared at the castle portcullis, the cheer was so resounding, so deafening, that Thom indeed knew what Caesar must have felt like when he returned from his victories.

Pretty damned good.

Thom knew the Guard didn’t believe in personal accolades or singling out men for accomplishment, but he would fade back into obscurity tomorrow. Today, he was going to bloody well enjoy it.

But if there was one face he wanted to see in the crowd more than any other, he told himself it was to have the satisfaction of knowing that she’d been wrong not to put her faith in him.

Very wrong.

“I made a mistake.”

His mouth curled. Damned right, she had.

Elizabeth had returned from camp with Lady Helen in such a state of distress that it was impossible to hide the cause from Jo and Izzie. She’d made a mistake, she told them. She loved Thom, and he was going to die before she could convince him of that fact.

Elizabeth didn’t need to swear the two women to secrecy; she knew they would go to their graves before they told anyone what the men had planned. Both women immediately understood the gravity of the situation and the extreme danger.

“No!” Jo said. “Castle Rock? He can’t.”

“Randolph, too?” Izzie asked.

Elizabeth nodded.

She wasn’t surprised when tears filled Jo’s eyes, but she was surprised to see Izzie similarly affected. At first Elizabeth didn’t understand. But when an explanation finally occurred to her, she knew she had even more reason for doing what she was going to do.

In those long, tortured hours of waiting, of not knowing what was happening, of not knowing whether the man she loved was dead or alive, Elizabeth decided two things: she couldn’t marry Randolph (no matter what the consequences of breaking the betrothal), and it wasn’t too late for her and Thom. She would do whatever she had to do to prove that to him.

But if she knew Thom, it wasn’t going to be easy. She’d failed him, and in the process unintentionally hurt him where he was most vulnerable—his pride. She could see it now, if only she’d seen it before.

She hadn’t been strong enough to defy her family and society, or brave enough to face an uncertain future—one without extreme wealth and comfort. She’d let herself be swayed by thoughts of what
could
happen to her children, while losing sight of the fact that the only children she wanted to have were Thom’s.

Worse, when she’d refused him, Thom wouldn’t have just seen it as a rejection of his offer of marriage for one that was so much obviously “better,” he would have also seen it as a rejection of
him
. Of the man he was. She’d made him feel as if he were not good enough—as if he were not worthy of her hand—when nothing could be further from the truth. His crude words of parting came back to her—“
good enough to fuck isn’t good enough
”—how horribly he’d misunderstood her motives. To her mind, there was no one better or more worthy. She just hadn’t been able to see through the fear.

She had no wish to live in poverty ever again, but Thom was right: there were no guarantees. With him or without him, she did not know what the future held. But she did know that without him she would be miserable, and she trusted him to keep her—and their children—safe.

What he’d accomplished so far should have convinced her. He’d made his way up a ladder that was all but impossible to climb: the smith’s son had become a formidable warrior, one skilled enough to be recruited by the greatest team of warriors this country had ever seen. And he’d done so with skill, determination, and hard work. She was so proud of him, but when she’d been given the chance to prove that to him, she’d faltered.

Even if he never achieved more than he had at this moment it didn’t matter. Unlike most men of her rank, Thom had skills beyond the battlefield to fall back on. He could be one of the greatest sword makers in Scotland, if he wanted to be.

Of course, it would have been much easier if she could have understood all this
before
she agreed to marry Randolph. But it took making that commitment, Lady Helen’s advice, and most of all the fear of losing him to force her to accept the truth. She should have jumped. He was worth the risk. All the gold, land, and security in Christendom wouldn’t matter without him. He was all that mattered. And she swore that if Thom gave her another chance, she would do whatever it took to prove to him that she would stand by him come what may.

He just had to survive the night.

The three women huddled together late into the evening. Lady Helen had stayed for a while but needed to return to her son. She was worried, too, but she told Elizabeth to have faith.

She tried.

Finally, they heard the sound of a bell shatter the night. Roused from bed, the occupants of the guesthouse, including Lady Mary, a handful of the other women, and the Bruce sisters, came pouring out into the abbey yard.

“What is it?” Lady Margaret Bruce asked.

“Something is happening at the castle,” one of the other women responded.

Elizabeth, Jo, Izzie, and Lady Helen exchanged glances, no one daring to give voice to their hopes.

But the bell was good. Surely it had to be good?

The excitement—the nervousness—was so overwhelming that when news finally arrived in a message from the king himself that the castle had been taken by a group of men who’d climbed the Rock, it was as if a dam had burst.

They laughed, they cried, they hugged, and did all three at once.

Elizabeth couldn’t believe it. Thom had done it. Dear God, he’d done it!

Though she had no confirmation that he’d survived the battle, she knew in her heart that he had.

When confirmation did come from Magnus, who’d arrived to fetch Helen to tend the wounded, Elizabeth was overjoyed to hear that not only had Thom survived, he was being hailed as a hero. She wanted to go with Helen, but Joanna held her back.

“Give him time to enjoy his moment with the others,” she said. “There will be time enough tomorrow to discuss the future.”

Jo was right. Elizabeth didn’t want to take this away from him. She would let him have this time with the men, but later she would find him whether he wanted to be found or not.

Besides, she had something to do first. Though unpleasant, it must be done. Before she finally went to bed, she went to the scriptorium to fetch a quill and ink. She had a letter to write.

T
HOM WAS SEATED
at the high table. After being roused from bed by MacLeod, he and the others had taken to the streets to join in the celebration, which had eventually wound its way into the Great Hall of Edinburgh Castle. The midday meal was a sea of people, the Hall stuffed to the gills with loyal Scots grateful to the king—and his men—for liberating the castle from the enemy.