Insurrection: Renegade [02] (20 page)

‘Robert.’

Behind his eyes, he sensed a soft glow. Pain bared its teeth, but he pushed on, struggling towards the source of his name. That voice; he knew it belonged to someone he desperately wanted to see. The glow transformed itself from nebulous amber into the definite outlines of a bedpost, the edge of a table and a distant door, all bathed in candlelight. Someone moved into view. Panic seized him at the sight of the hand rising towards him. He tried to sit up, but the beast in his shoulder woke and howled, almost sending him reeling back into oblivion.

‘Don’t try to move.’

That familiarity again. Gritting his teeth against the waves of pain, he opened his eyes. The face of a man swam before him, then slowly came into focus. It was James Stewart, the High Steward of Scotland.

Robert tried to speak, but all that came out was a surprised croak.

‘Here,’ said James, taking a cloth and goblet from the table. When he dipped the material into the vessel it came out red. ‘Wine and honey,’ explained the older man, squeezing the sodden end over Robert’s mouth.

The taste was a sweet shock. He swallowed, feeling the sting in his parched throat. ‘James?’ he murmured. ‘Where am I?’

‘Dunluce Castle.’

Robert went to sit up again at the name. Dunluce was one of the Earl of Ulster’s strongholds, an imposing cliff-top fortress that dominated the northern coastline of Ireland. Sweat broke out coldly on his skin. ‘How did I get here?’

James moved in to help, pushing pillows behind his back to support him. ‘What do you remember?’

The steward was frowning as he sat back in the chair Robert now saw was placed by the bed. From his slightly elevated position, he could also see two men standing just beyond the sphere of candlelight, to either side of the door. The red bands of cloth around their upper arms and the cross-guards of their swords were the brightest things about them.

‘I . . .’ Robert trailed off. ‘I’m not sure.’ He glanced down, seeing a square of material placed over his left shoulder, held in place by bands of cloth that felt tight across his back. It was brown with dried blood. He could smell something bitter. Herbs perhaps? The bare skin of his arm and chest was livid. He remembered the rain and the blood on his blade. He remembered the man and the crossbow rising. ‘I was attacked. But I cannot tell you by whom. Or when, or how I came to be here.’

‘Some of those answers I can give you. Earl Richard’s men brought you here four days ago. They tell me you almost died on the journey.’ James’s tone was grave. ‘Sir Richard’s physician saved your life. When I arrived the day before yesterday, he told me your wound was starting to heal. He believes he was able to remove the bolt without causing further damage and is confident you will be able to use the muscles again, given time.’

Robert felt his throat tighten; constricted by relief. The steward was studying him. His face, usually so composed, appeared grim. A host of questions rose in Robert, welling through his exhaustion and confusion. ‘My daughter?’ he said suddenly.

‘Marjorie is still in Scotland, with my wife. She is well.’

Robert let out a breath of gratitude. ‘And my men? My brothers? We were attacked in the south by Ulster’s knights. I haven’t seen them in . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It must be months.’

‘Niall and Edward came to me at Kyle Stewart. They told me what happened. I crossed the race as soon as I could. It didn’t take long to discover my brother-in-law was holding you prisoner at Ballymote. I was in the process of trying to secure your release when it emerged that you had escaped, with his daughter.’

Robert’s gladness at the news of his brothers’ safety was replaced by concern. He sat up, grimacing. ‘Elizabeth, is she . . .?’

‘My niece is unharmed.’ James’s tone roughened. ‘Ulster’s men heard screams and were searching for the source. Elizabeth alerted them to your attacker. Sir Richard’s knights killed the man when he turned his crossbow on them.’

‘He is dead?’ Robert swore and collapsed back against the pillows. ‘I don’t even know who he was. Or why he tried to kill me.’

James didn’t seem to have heard. ‘What in God’s name were you thinking? Dragging Elizabeth across Ireland? She could have been killed!’ The high steward, whose calm in the face of all storms was one of the traits Robert admired most about him and whose poise as a politician had defined his role as one of the first guardians of Scotland after Alexander’s death, stood and began to pace.

‘I didn’t drag her, James, she wanted to run.’

‘You think that excuses it?’

‘Does Sir Richard know I didn’t abduct her?’

‘Elizabeth told her father why she ran,’ said James after a moment, his voice losing some of its force. ‘She said you weren’t to blame. I cannot say my brother-in-law agrees,’ he added grimly.

‘I thought, if Lord Donough delivered her back to Ballymote, I would be able to secure Cormac’s release.’ Robert met James’s gaze. ‘Ulster is here at Dunluce? Has he said anything about my brother?’

‘Through my mediation Lord Donough has agreed to pay Sir Richard a tribute for his son’s pardon. Cormac is on his way back to Glenarm.’

Robert let relief wash through him.

‘Your actions have seriously compromised Sir Richard’s position,’ James continued into his silence. ‘The marriage he arranged for Elizabeth has been called off. Her bridegroom deemed her to be sullied. You are going to have to face the consequences of this, Robert.’ The steward frowned. ‘Do you hear me?’

Robert wasn’t listening. He still had one pressing question. After the unexpected good fortune he had been granted, this one was heavy with hope. ‘I need to speak to you alone,’ he said, his eyes moving to the two guards by the door.

James looked round at them and nodded. The men hesitated, but after a moment turned and left.

When the door closed, Robert’s gaze shifted back to the steward. ‘Did Niall bring a staff to you at Kyle Stewart?’ When James answered, Robert couldn’t help the smile that cracked his dry lips. He closed his eyes in prayer. It was worth it – forsaking his place as a guardian, leaving his daughter and men, the hunt for the relic, his capture and escape – it was all worth it. ‘I did what I set out to do, James. What I told you I would do when I resigned after the council at Peebles. I found what King Edward needs to complete the prophecy. The Staff of Malachy is the key to Scotland’s freedom.’ The steward was shaking his head, but Robert ignored this, taking it for doubt. ‘We can bargain for new terms. Terms that may grant us our liberty.’

‘Cease, Robert,’ murmured James.

‘We might compel him to return the Stone of Destiny for a coronation.’ Robert paused. ‘My coronation.’

‘I said cease!’

At the command, Robert fell silent. He frowned at the steward; at the lines of worry that creased his face, at the defeat in his brown eyes.

‘Things have changed in your absence,’ began James. His voice was quiet now. ‘King Edward launched a campaign in the summer. A campaign that targeted your lands. While he continued work on his new fortifications at Lochmaben in place of your grandfather’s hall, his son led a force into Carrick. Crops, cattle, whole settlements were put to the torch. Turnberry has fallen and Ayr has been razed.’

‘Dear God.’ Robert thought of his earldom, his home in flames.

‘That is not the worst of it. Shortly before I came here, I heard that John Balliol has been released from papal custody. The King of France is set to help him return to the throne.’

Robert pushed himself upright, pain needling him. ‘He cannot. Edward wouldn’t allow Balliol to set foot in Scotland!’

‘He may have no choice. Philippe is still in possession of Gascony, which Edward desperately wants back. There is great confidence in Scotland, Robert, that Balliol will soon be coming home. If he does, you and your family will no longer have a place there. Neither will your estates here in Ireland, or England offer safe haven. Not with your current allegiance to the Scottish cause.’

As the words sank in, Robert thought fleetingly of Norway, where his older sister, Isabel, was queen, but he dismissed the prospect immediately. He would not run and hide under her skirts.

James got slowly to his feet. ‘The only thing you can do is ally yourself with the one man who will do everything in his power to prevent Balliol from recovering his throne. The one man who can offer you sanctuary until such time as, God willing, this storm has passed.’

The reality of what James was saying seeped through Robert as an icy tide. ‘You cannot mean what I think.’

‘You must submit to King Edward. Ally yourself with the enemy of your enemy. It is the only way to safeguard your lands and family.’

‘This is madness! Even if I agreed to such lunacy, Edward would throw me in the Tower the moment I crossed the border!’

‘He may not,’ replied James, ‘if you take him what you tell me he desires most.’

Robert stared at him in stunned silence.

The steward continued, his tone adamant. ‘You must surrender yourself to the king’s mercy, beg his forgiveness for your trespass and give him the Staff of Malachy.’

Rage towered like a storm in Robert, billowing and ugly. Helpless with pain, he could only lie there, impotent, as it coursed through him. He wanted to strike out, but he couldn’t even sit. Instead, he jerked his head towards the steward. ‘Give up the only leverage I have with which to free my country? What I risked all for? By God, I will not!’

‘If Balliol is restored it will no longer be your country, Robert. He and his supporters know you have designs on the throne. They will not allow you to threaten them again. You will be a hunted man, landless and powerless. What use will the staff be then?’

Robert closed his eyes, breath shuddering from him. The truth of James’s words could not be denied. Even as he railed against them, they settled coldly within him. His family had put themselves in direct conflict with John Balliol when his father and grandfather had attacked his chief stronghold in Galloway fifteen years ago and with that assault revealed Balliol’s weakness to the men of the realm, crushing his early ambitions to take the crown. Years later, when, as king, Balliol commanded the Bruce family to raise arms for him against England, Robert’s father declared he would rather die than fight for the pretender on the throne. But strong though the rivalry with Balliol was, worse still was his family’s enmity with the Comyns; a deep-seated hatred that spanned decades.

Forged in blood and betrayal between his grandfather and the Lord of Badenoch, it was a hatred that flowed through both families, passing from Robert’s grandfather to him and from Badenoch to his son, culminating in that stormy day during the council of Peebles when John Comyn had held a dagger to his throat; the day Robert resigned as guardian. If Balliol was restored to the throne of Scotland and the Comyns regained their power in the realm, he and his family would never be safe.

‘I broke my oaths, James. Oaths stronger than fealty and homage. Unbreakable oaths. Edward will never trust me again.’

‘He might, if you were vouched for by one of his chief vassals. Dire times called me to take dire measures. I told Ulster of our intention to set you on the throne.’ The steward raised a hand as Robert cursed bitterly. ‘It was a risk, yes. But Richard de Burgh has been an ally of your family for a long time, almost as long as he has been an enemy of Balliol, whose people sailed often from Galloway to terrorise and raid his strongholds. My brother-in-law may be Edward’s man, but he is ruled by his own ambitions. If you were to become king, he would stand to gain a great deal.’

‘And in the meantime – while I’m languishing in Edward’s court waiting for that fantasy to come true – what will Ulster gain? What in Christ’s name will prevent him from telling Edward of our plan and gaining much greater favour from a king who already wears a crown?’

‘My brother-in-law has a condition for his help getting you back into Edward’s trust.’ James shook his head when Robert went to question him. ‘We will talk through such things when you are healed. For now, both Sir Richard and I simply need to know that you are willing to make this sacrifice.’

Robert’s hopelessness closed over him like black water. He had been hated once by his countrymen for fighting under Edward’s banner. It had taken years of effort and war to prove his cause was theirs. This would destroy all of that. And what of England, home of the father who despised him and the men who had once trusted him: Humphrey de Bohun, Ralph de Monthermer and the rest? To be back in their company – a hated pariah? His eyes closed in despair.

‘There is no other way, Robert,’ James said quietly, watching the emotions shift across his face. ‘If Balliol returns you lose everything. At least, this way, you have a chance to make sure you and your family are protected. Our best hope is that Edward will be able to keep Balliol from the throne. If he succeeds, God willing, you may one day still claim it.’

PART 3

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