Highlander's Redemption: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Book Two (24 page)

When she was done
giving the warrior her instructions, Garrick took her by the hand and began
leading her toward their tent. Colin and Finn were also wandering tiredly
toward their cots. Just as Garrick veered toward Fletch, Angus appeared before
all four of the horses. He produced an expensive and rare lump of sugar from
his pocket for each of the animals. “I’ll see to them, laddie. You need rest
just as badly as the lassie does.”

Jossalyn reached
out and wordlessly squeezed the giant’s hand. He had been her shadow throughout
the entire night, helping her lift and lower the Bruce, keeping the throngs of
shocked men at bay, and even soothing the hysterical serving wench as she hovered
around the table in tears. He smiled back at her and gave her a nod, bobbing
his ruddy head slightly.

Leaving the horses
in Angus’ care, Garrick led her to their tent. Without bothering to undress or
even take off her new leather boots, Jossalyn went straight for the cot and
curled up on her side. Garrick followed her, settling himself behind her and
pulling her back snuggly against his chest. His warmth and strength surrounded
her. No matter what happened, she could count on him. That thought soothed all
her fears, and exhaustion and sleep claimed her almost immediately.

The next week
passed in a blur for Jossalyn. She slept and ate when she could, but mostly she
stayed by the Bruce’s side. After that first night, he was moved into his tent
and placed in his own bed. Jossalyn set herself up at his bedside, giving him
more horehound tea and watching for any signs of change, for better or for
worse.

Men from the camp
came and went, sometimes bringing her food, other times refreshing her supply
of horehound or boiling water. She had described the medicinal plant to a few
of the men, and before she knew it, they were bringing her armfuls of the
stuff. Just as she had suspected, it wasn’t rare here, for which she was
grateful.

Garrick stayed nearby
as well, though he occasionally disappeared to brief those in the camp about
what had happened or update them on the King’s current condition. He also ran a
few training sessions in an attempt to burn off some of the men’s anxious
energy and sense of uselessness. She suspected that it helped him feel useful
to have a task like training to complete as well.

Garrick also
called a few meetings of the Bruce’s advisory circle over the week. The dozen
or so men would gather in the Bruce’s tent a few feet away from where Jossalyn
sat at his side to discuss their plans. Though they never openly talked about
what they would do if the King were to die, the air was always heavy with
unspoken worry during these meetings.

A week after the
night of the poisoning, Garrick called Colin, Finn, Angus, and a few others to
the Bruce’s tent for a discreet meeting.

“I’ve been
thinking on what the Lowland assassin said, though he didn’t give us much to
work with,” Garrick began in a low voice. “He mentioned that there would be
more coming after him.”

“Another
assassination attempt? More planted traitors?” Finn said, his brow furrowing.

“I doubt it would
work a second time,” Garrick replied.

“I have spoken
with the serving lass again,” Angus offered. “She didn’t have much new
information, but she remembered that the man passing himself off as the new
cook claimed to be the cousin of the old cook. The old cook was called back to Inverness
to see to his ailing father. A few days after he returned to his village, the
body of his cousin was found floating downstream in the River Ness.”

“Then that bastard
would-be assassin has at least one death on his hands,” Finn said bitterly.

“Aye, and he’s
paid for it.” Garrick’s voice was grim. “But now that his plot has been
discovered, no one has been allowed to enter or exit the camp. Besides the
poisoner, everyone here has been with the cause for months and has already been
vetted and proven themselves.”

“So what did the
bastard mean when he said that more like him were coming?” Colin asked.

“That’s just
what’s got me fashed, Colin,” Garrick said, running a hand through his hair. “I
think he may have let slip more than he intended. Could he have been alluding
to an attack?”

“He said, ‘there
will be plenty more like me to cut you down soon enough,’” Finn said quietly. “Lowlanders?”

“Or Scots who have
sided with the English against the Bruce. The Comyns have been openly hostile
to the Bruce for more than a year,” Garrick responded. “Either way, we need to
be ready. There could be an attack mounting, and even if they don’t know the
exact location of the camp, they may be gathering nearby.”

“I’ll warn the
scouts,” Colin said, his normally easy features tight with concern.

“And I’ll increase
the men’s training, especially in covert archery. If there is going to be a
battle in the area, we’ll need to use the forest as an advantage rather than a
hindrance. There likely won’t be any open-field fighting if we are attacked.”

The circle of men
all nodded and began dispersing. Garrick came to Jossalyn’s side and sat on a
stool next to her.

“Will we really be
attacked?” She tried to keep the edge of fear from her voice, but didn’t
succeed. She wanted to be brave, but the thought of being in the middle of a
battle terrified her. She knew that all the men in the camp, most of all
Garrick, were capable and skilled warriors. Even still, she hated the idea of
them clashing with men who were bent on killing them.

He ran a soothing
hand over her back. “The scouts will give us plenty of warning if it comes to
that, lass. More likely, they’ll be able to detect the movements of a large
group in the area, and we will be able to meet them on our own terms.”

“And you think
they might be Scotsmen? Why would your own countrymen fight against the cause
for freedom?”

Garrick shook his
head slightly. “Some have found it more profitable to remain aligned with the
English. Others dislike the Bruce and his tactics. He didn’t exactly make
friends when he killed the Red Comyn last year.” A rueful but tired smile
touched the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps having the entire English army to
battle wasn’t enough of a challenge for him.”

Just then, the
Bruce sighed and muttered something. Both Garrick and Jossalyn jerked, suddenly
alert, their eyes locked on the Bruce. He muttered and rolled his head from
side to side a little. It was almost as if Garrick’s sarcastic comment had
penetrated into the Bruce’s mind and roused him somehow. His eyelids cracked
open slowly.

Garrick seized the
Bruce’s hand. “Robert, can you hear me?”

The Bruce blinked
a few times, then croaked out a whispered “Aye.”

Relief flooded
through Jossalyn. She grabbed a cup of water that sat on the table nearby and
handed it to Garrick, who gently lifted the King’s head and gave him a few
sips. When he was settled back onto his pillow, the Bruce said, “What
happened?” This time is voice was a bit stronger.

Garrick launched
into an explanation of the poisoning, Jossalyn’s life-saving operation and her
antidote to the poison, the cook’s flight, Garrick and the others’ pursuit of
him, and their most recent suspicions that an attack could be mounting against
them. As Garrick spoke, the Bruce went from dazed to shocked to serious.

“We must be ready
for this attack,” he said, trying to prop himself up on his elbows. “We must—”
He suddenly closed his eyes and swallowed, looking nauseated. Jossalyn gently
pushed him back down to lie flat on the bed.

“You are still
weak, sire. You may be through the worst of it, but you have a long way to go
to recover your strength.”

“But I must be
able to lead my men!” he said, frustrated. “I cannot ask them to go to battle
for me when I cannot stand at their side and lead by example.”

“Instead of
snapping at the lass for the fact that you are still recovering, I should think
you owe her thanks for saving your life,” Garrick said with one raised eyebrow.
At first Jossalyn was shocked that Garrick would speak to his King in such a
way, but then the Bruce gave a faint chuckle.

When the chuckle
died down, he sighed. “I owe you my life, Lady Jossalyn,” he said, all the
bluster and intensity leaving him for a moment to be replaced by earnest
humbleness. “I thank you. But I warn you that you’ll find me an exceedingly
difficult patient. I want to be able to stand in front of my men and lead them
into battle, if it comes to that.”

“Then we’ll just
have to work together to get your strength up again,” Jossalyn replied with a
smile.

“You’re a lucky
man to have this woman as your bride, Garrick,” the Bruce said, some of the old
twinkle returning to his eyes.

Garrick’s eyes
widened. “Then…you give us your blessing?”

“Of course, man!
How could I deny it to one of my most trusted warriors and advisors and the
woman who saved my life? I’ll do the ceremony myself if my healer will allow
me.” He turned his shrewd gaze on Jossalyn.

“I’m—I’m sure we
can find a way,” she stumbled, overwhelmed by the surge of excitement inside
her. They would officially be wed—and soon, as long as she thought the Bruce
was well enough to preside over a ceremony. Her heart hitched, and she sought
out Garrick’s gaze. His eyes mirrored her excitement and joy, and she thought
she would burst with happiness at that moment.

“Then we’d better
get started on my strength-building right away,” the Bruce said, interrupting
their moment. “I’ll start with some food—I’m famished.”

Robert the Bruce
was glaring at her. The King of Scotland was giving her a sour look as if she
had just taken away his favorite toy. Jossalyn had to repress a smile at the thought.

“My suffering
amuses you, lass?” he grumbled. Apparently she hadn’t repressed it as well as
she imagined.

“No, sire,” she
said, trying to straighten her face.

“For the hundredth
time, lass, call me Robert!”

She nodded, though
she didn’t think she would ever get used to the idea of calling the King by his
familiar name.

He tried to push
himself off of his bed and onto his feet once again, but like the ten times
before, he only made it halfway before collapsing back down onto the mattress.

“That’s enough for
today, I think,” she said. He tried to stand again, but she put a gentle hand
on his shoulder to stop him. Even her light touch was enough to force him back
down. Though he had been awake for a week, his strength was slow in returning. And
no wonder. It was a miracle that he was even still alive. Being unconscious for
a week and bedridden for another was a blessing, but the Bruce was impatient to
be up and about again.

The rumors about
an impending battle didn’t help matters, of course. Though the scouts had yet
to substantiate the speculations, the mood around the camp was serious and
tense.

Garrick had been
training with the men harder than ever before, putting them through their paces
and running seemingly endless archery drills. Though the men were showing great
improvements when it came to shooting on the move, among obstacles like trees
and shrubs, and from different positions, Garrick kept on them, demanding their
full dedication.

In fact, she had
barely seen him this past week except at mealtimes and after the sun had set,
when he would drag himself, exhausted, into their tent. Despite the fact that
he didn’t speak much about it, she sensed that like the others around the camp,
he was tense and on edge for the battle that seemed to be looming in all of
their minds. Though the enemy hadn’t shown himself yet, he was a palpable
presence in the camp.

Just as she was
settling the Bruce back onto a stack of pillows and reaching for a bowl of stew
for him, she heard a piercing whistle. She froze mid-motion, her insides
chilling as she heard the whistle echoed again and again all around them. Suddenly
the Bruce was alert, his sharp eyes darting around the room.

The canvas flap at
the other end of the shelter was ripped back and Garrick burst inside. She
gasped and jerked to her feet, but the Bruce simply said, “Speak,” as if he
were waiting for such a startling interruption.

“It’s the Comyns. Along
with a smattering of men from other clans, they are moving in toward us. We are
believed to outnumber them, but we only have a preliminary report from the
scouts.”

The Bruce’s eyes
scanned the carpet at Garrick’s feet in thought. “We should move now, while
they are still positioning themselves,” he said quietly.

“I agree. The men
are preparing themselves.”

Jossalyn felt her
stomach drop to the floor. The moment had come. They were going into battle. Garrick
could be wounded or—or killed. She made herself finish the thought, and it sent
panic stabbing through her.

As if sensing her
distress, Garrick shifted his eyes to hers, and though he stayed rooted in
place, his gaze communicated silently his understanding of the grave situation.

“I must be with
the men,” the Bruce said in a pained voice as he tried to push himself up off
of the bed.

“Nay, Robert. You
aren’t well enough,” Garrick said, striding to his side.

“Damn you, man! Don’t
tell me what I can and cannot do!” Even as he ground out the words through
gritted teeth, the Bruce fell back onto the pillows. He pounded a fist into the
mattress in frustration.

“Garrick, I need
to be out there,” he said, this time his voice low with desperation. “I’m not so
great a fool to think I can fight, but I am the King and leader of this
rebellion. I need to let the men know that I stand with them in spirit, that
their King is still strong and very much alive.”

Jossalyn exchanged
a look with Garrick, shaking her head slightly. Though the entire camp knew
that the Bruce had survived the attempt on his life, very few had actually seen
him due to his enfeebled condition. There was no way he would be able to stand
in front of his men, let alone walk out of his tent under his own power.

A light flashed
into Garrick’s eyes, though. “I have an idea.”

An hour later, all
the able-bodied warriors in the camp had gathered in the practice field, which
was serving as their launch point for the battle. As Garrick looked out at the
sea of men, who were bristling with weapons and covered in a variety of plaid
colors, he felt his chest squeeze. Partly it was the heat of the anticipated battle
seeping into his blood. These men were prepared, well-trained, and determined. Though
he didn’t relish the thought of killing, and dreaded the fact that some of
their own would surely fall, the adrenaline of the fight was coursing through
him, and he was ready for it.

But another source
of the squeeze in his chest was the fear of leaving Jossalyn at the camp. The
rebels absolutely couldn’t be bested today, for if they were, their enemies
would do their worst to the few who would remain back at camp. And though he
had never feared death, he realized now that he was terrified at the idea of
leaving Jossalyn if he died. The thought of living without her was worse than
any fate he could imagine. He had realized as he had prepared himself to depart
for battle that if she felt the same way about him, she was likely twisting in
pain and fear inside at the thought of losing him.

As if summoned
from his mind, he caught a glimpse of her moving toward him from behind the sea
of warriors in front of his gaze. She was walking next to a litter carried by
two burly soldiers. Inside the litter lay Robert the Bruce. A few of the men at
the back of the crown began to notice the small group, which included their
King reclined in the litter, and parted for them. A murmur ran through the
gathered crowd as the Bruce was carried to the front of the group where Garrick
stood.

When they reached
the front, the two men carrying the litter halted, and Garrick and Jossalyn
helped prop up the Bruce so that he was sitting upright. A hush fell over those
gathered.

“Scotsmen!” the
Bruce began in a loud, clear voice. “We stand at the precipice of either a gory
end or a victorious beginning. Now is the day—now is the hour—to battle for our
lives and our freedom. Edward I would have kept us in chains, slaves to do with
as he pleased. And Edward II will prove himself Longshanks’ son, in name and in
deed.” The crowd rumbled in response.

“Who among you
will die the death of a traitor today?” The men exploded with shouts of “Not
I!”

“Who among you
will die the death of a coward today?” Again the crown shouted their denial
heartily.

“Now who among you
will fight and die for Scotland, for your King, and for your freedom?”

A cacophony erupted.
The shouts of the men’s ayes mixed with the rumble of their feet stamping the
ground and the clang of their weapons beating against their shields.

“Today you will
stand as freemen, and you may fall, but you will fall as freemen also. Your
freedom is in every stroke of your sword, every arrow you let fly, every swing
of your mace or ax. No tyrant or usurper can stand against us. Let us take our
freedom, or die trying!”

The response of
the men was deafening. A whistle was sent up, and the warriors bellowed their
battle cries, then began marching southwest toward where the Comyn’s men were
gathering.

As the men moved
out of the field, the Bruce collapsed backward into the litter, completely
spent. Garrick lifted his limp arm and clasped it in his hand, locking eyes
with him. The Bruce gave him a little nod in response.

Then Garrick
turned to Angus, who was waiting a few paces away. “Guard the King with your
life,” Garrick said to him solemnly. He leaned in slightly and said more
softly, “And Jossalyn.”

Angus clasped arms
with him firmly. “Aye, I will, Garrick.”

It was time. The
moment he hoped he would never have to face had arrived. He had to say goodbye
to Jossalyn, potentially for the last time. Their eyes met, and he feared he
would come undone before he could say everything he wanted to. Her eyes shimmered
with tears, and he felt like he would drown in their emerald-green depths. She
was trying to keep her emotions in check, but her rosy lower lip was beginning
to quiver.

He closed the
distance between them in one long stride, slamming their bodies together in a
hard embrace. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply, locking away
the intoxicating scent of wildflowers and sunshine in his mind forever.

“I love you,
Jossalyn,” he whispered into her hair.

“I love you too,
Garrick,” she choked out.

Suddenly he forgot
everything that he wanted to say to her. He could only think of how much he
loved her at the moment, how much he admired and respected her, how humbled and
honored he was to be the recipient of her love.

Pulling back from
her was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but he forced himself to do
it. He turned before he could see the tears streaming down her beautiful face,
for he feared that he wouldn’t be able to leave if he didn’t go now. Though his
feet felt like they were made of lead, he kept one moving in front of the other
as he caught up to the tail end of the swarm of warriors headed to battle.

He willed himself
not to look back, instead holding the image of her in happier times in his
mind. After several minutes, though, he cracked. He turned to look behind his
shoulder, but she was already out of view. He spun back around, ready to face
the battle ahead.