Kingdom (55 page)

Humphrey and Thomas shared a look. Humphrey nodded at the younger man. ‘Tell them.’

The room fell silent as Thomas spoke, outlining the plan. When he had finished, a mixture of emotions played on the men’s faces. Humphrey saw surprise, doubt, thoughtful agreement and, on Aymer’s, incredulous fury. He was the first to speak.

‘You cannot be considering this?’ Aymer demanded, challenging the others, before rounding on Humphrey and Thomas. His lips pulled back to reveal the wire on his front teeth. ‘No! I’ll not agree to it!’

‘Not even for the good of our realm?’ Thomas asked him.

‘Not for anything. Do you hear me? I’d rather deal with a sodomite than that
serpent
!’

Henry Percy levelled Thomas with his blue eyes. ‘I’ll not ally with him either. The bastard took me prisoner.’

‘Why do we even need his help?’ questioned Robert Clifford. ‘Why not send our own men into Perth to seize Gaveston?’

‘Edward will doubtless have his guards on the alert not to open the gates to anyone they don’t trust – whether Scot or Englishman,’ responded Thomas. ‘Gaveston has a large number of men with him. Gloucester has stayed loyal to the king, as have others.’

Humphrey pressed his lips together. Earlier, Thomas had delivered the bad news that Henry, his nephew, had gone north with Piers.

‘He is well protected,’ Thomas continued. ‘As you said, Sir Guy, we would need a strong force to take him – a force that might then draw attack by Bruce’s forces.’

‘Even if we could take him,’ Humphrey added, his eyes on Clifford, ‘his abduction would be traced back to us. This way, we maintain our innocence.’

‘This stone will kill two birds, Sir Aymer,’ said Thomas, his eyes following the agitated earl. ‘If Bruce agrees to this he will be breaking the terms of the truce. King Edward will have no choice but to turn his attention to Scotland then. The war will be resumed. We’ll bear no more tributes paid out to our enemy.’

‘But if this works, we lose Perth,’ Henry Percy cut in.

Thomas nodded. ‘A sacrifice, yes. But one I believe will benefit us in the long term.’

Ralph frowned. ‘Why would Bruce do this, knowing he will break the truce and forfeit any more tributes?’

‘We have things that will make it worth his while,’ responded Humphrey. ‘His family, for a start.’

‘And if it works?’ asked Guy, ignoring Aymer’s glare. ‘We all agreed we would take action if Piers returned from exile, but once he is in our custody – what then?’

‘He’ll be taken to France,’ Thomas answered quickly. ‘To be held in a foreign prison.’

Humphrey nodded. ‘We know King Philippe is angry over Edward’s treatment of his daughter, who has complained her husband is married to another. We believe he will help us.’

‘Gaveston will be missing after the attack, assumed dead,’ added Thomas. ‘My cousin will mourn him and that will be that.’

Aymer turned on Humphrey, his eyes filling with accusation. ‘Is this something you concocted in that secret meeting? You and Bruce?’

Humphrey met his gaze. ‘This again? Christ, Aymer, how many times must I repeat myself?’

‘Until the truth comes out!’

‘The truth is that I met with Bruce that day in order to ensure Sir Henry’s release.’

‘Why did you keep it from me? Why did you not even attempt to capture him when you had the chance?’

Humphrey bristled, feeling the eyes of the others on him. ‘I had no chance. I would have been dead before I drew a blade.’

‘Henry said you were with Bruce for an age. What did two so-called mortal enemies have to talk about? Old times perhaps?’ Before Humphrey could answer, Aymer continued. ‘Maybe he was thanking you for helping him escape from Westminster.’

‘How dare you accuse me of that!’

‘Someone helped Bruce that day,’ spat Aymer. ‘Someone had to have warned him the king was about to arrest him.’

No one noticed Ralph de Monthermer tense and drop his gaze, all their attention on Aymer and Humphrey. The two earls stood a few feet from one another, drawn up to their full heights, facing off like stags in the rut.

‘You are always the wronged one when it comes to Bruce, aren’t you?’ Humphrey struck his chest with his fist. ‘I was his friend, God damn it, Aymer! I was the one he betrayed the most!’

Aymer didn’t falter. ‘You’re right about one thing – we do have his family. I’ll show you how we deal with Bruce.’

Before anyone could stop him, Aymer stormed out through the doors, pushing past the startled guards outside. Humphrey went after him with a shout, but was brought up short by Henry Percy. The large man stepped in front of him, drawing his sword.

‘I am sorry, Humphrey,’ Henry said, his voice low. ‘But Aymer is right – when it comes to Bruce your judgement has never been clear.’

‘Dear God, Henry,’ murmured Ralph. ‘You would threaten one of your brethren?’

Henry’s cool blue eyes darted in his direction. He licked his lips, but kept the blade pointed at Humphrey’s chest.

Humphrey’s heart was pounding, but his fear wasn’t for himself. Aymer’s footsteps had receded down the passage. His knights hadn’t gone after him. They were standing in the doorway, their own swords drawn, staring at the frozen tableau uncertain how to act.

Thomas walked slowly over to Henry and put his hand on the lord’s blade. ‘This wasn’t Humphrey’s plan, Henry. It was mine. If we do this we can save our realm from the blight that is Piers Gaveston. Then, united, we can concentrate our strength against Bruce. Our alliance with him will only be temporary. I swear it.’

Henry seemed to struggle with the decision. Finally, he lowered his blade.

Humphrey pushed past him. Snatching a sword from one of his knights, he raced from the building, out into the snow. His boots sank into the drifts as he followed the fresh prints made by Aymer, towards the guest lodgings. Barrelling inside, he almost fell over a maid, on her knees, picking up the fragments of a dropped jug. She cried out, startled, as he dashed past. Several doors were open along the passage, some still swinging. Up ahead, Humphrey heard a door bang back against a wall, followed by a woman’s scream.

He reached Elizabeth’s room in time to see Aymer hauling her off the window seat. The earl spun round, pinning her to him, an arm across her chest, his face cast in the red haze of the fire. Humphrey shouted as Aymer wrenched his dagger free and brought it to Elizabeth’s throat. ‘Stop!’ He held up his free hand. ‘Aymer, please. This is madness. She is a queen!’

‘No queen I recognise.’

‘She is Ulster’s daughter then. That you cannot refute.’

‘She is nothing but something to bargain with. An asset. You told me that yourself, Humphrey.’

Humphrey heard footsteps pounding down the passage. He didn’t look to see who it was – didn’t take his eyes off Elizabeth, who was staring at him, her cheeks drained of colour.

‘I say we use her now,’ continued Aymer intently. ‘Let us take her and Bruce’s daughter to the border and threaten to slit their throats unless he surrenders. Bruce is the real enemy. You – Thomas – you’ve both lost sight of that with this obsession with Gaveston.’

‘It is the king’s infatuation that has caused this, Aymer.’ Thomas of Lancaster appeared in the doorway behind Humphrey. He moved into the chamber, his eyes on the furious earl. ‘Don’t let your hatred of Bruce blind you to that. Before we can deal with the Scots we must deal with the poison in our own realm.’

‘I want him dead and buried, Thomas. Do you understand me? Bruce must pay for what he has done to us!’

‘He will. By my oath, he will.’

Aymer took a long time to consider. At length, he lowered his dagger and released Elizabeth, pushing her roughly to the floor. Striding past Humphrey, he allowed Thomas to lead him from the chamber.

Humphrey waited until they had gone, then crossed to Elizabeth, who had her hand pressed against her mouth. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she made no sound. As his steward, alerted to the commotion, appeared in the doorway, Humphrey ordered him to bring wine. When he bent down to her, Elizabeth thrust out her hand as if to push him away. Humphrey ignored it. Helping her to her feet, he guided her to the window seat. His jaw tightened as he sat beside her and saw the livid line across her throat where Aymer’s blade had cut her skin.

‘I am sorry,’ he murmured.

She turned on him, eyes flashing. ‘And to think I was missing you! An asset, am I? Nothing more than something to bargain with? I thought you were my friend. I thought I could trust you.’

Humphrey said nothing, his mind stalling on her first words. After a moment, he drew her into his arms. ‘You can trust me, Elizabeth. I’ll not let any harm come to you.’

She stiffened, then slumped against him and began to weep. Feeling her breath warm on his neck, he stroked her hair to calm her. She tensed again, but now it seemed different than before. Her breaths slowed. He felt something change – felt it in her body and in his. She pulled back and looked up at him, searching his face. The fear was gone from her eyes. A question remained. Strands of her black hair were stuck to her face with tears. He reached out and pushed them away. Then, he was leaning in, his mouth opening over hers, knowing that she would accept.

Chapter 41

Turnberry, Scotland, 1312 AD

Robert stood on the beach, watching the three galleys approach. The sand was littered with debris, thrown up by the violence of the March storms, but the sea was now as calm as a mill pond, impassive under a milk-white sky. Boys hunted along the shoreline, searching for treasures disgorged by the recent waves – dead fish to poke with sticks, maybe a rusted weapon lost in a battle. Robert wondered if the dragon shield he had tossed from Turnberry’s battlements was among the flotsam, or whether the sea had kept that token for itself.

Beneath the billow of a sail, he picked out Christiana’s halo of hair. He smiled. It had been almost six months since he had seen her last. The Lady of Garmoran had returned to Barra in the autumn with Lachlan and Ruarie to train a new season of galloglass and arrange for more galleys to be sent to Ireland to gather supplies for his army. Angus MacDonald had done the same, the ending of Scotland’s bitter civil war and the pause in the conflict with England giving them all the chance to rebuild their lives.

As the galleys entered the shallows, Robert sent Nes and the other men waiting with him to help haul the boats on to the sand. Christiana was escorted out of the first, picking up the skirts of her pale blue gown as she made her way towards him. She wore a woollen cloak of the same colour, trimmed with the cloud-soft fur of mountain hares. She was followed by Brigid and Elena. Grown tall like her mother, Elena looked more like a young woman than a girl now. One half of her face was strikingly beautiful, the other scarred by the fire that had almost claimed her life.

Christiana came to him with a smile. Taking his hands in hers, she bowed her head. ‘My lord king.’

Robert drew her close, breathing in the salt scent of her hair as he kissed her.

At first they had tried to be discreet, but the proximity in which they had all lived these past years had made such effort futile and, in the end, they stopped hiding their affection. Still, there remained between them the knowledge, unspoken but clear, that Robert was fighting to bring his family back to his side and, whenever that day came, Christiana would lose her place there.

Robert released her. ‘How was your journey?’

‘Uneventful. We waited out the storm on Islay. Lord Angus sends you his good wishes. He has had fishermen making the ladders you requested through the winter. He told me to tell you he will deliver them shortly – says they’ll be stronger than lobster pots.’

Robert’s brief smile faded. ‘They will need to be for the task ahead.’

Leaving his men to help secure the vessels, he escorted Christiana up the beach, motioning for Brigid and Elena, lingering at a respectful distance, to follow. He looked back at Brigid as they climbed the dunes. ‘There’s something I think you’ll be glad to see.’

Ahead, the thud of hammers could be heard. Striding up on to the bluffs, Robert led the three women into a bustle of activity. Outside Turnberry’s walls, a new village was slowly going up, in place of the one the English had burned to the ground. He and his men had taken the castle last year from the garrison left there by King Edward. He had since been rebuilding the village with funds from the king’s tribute and from what he had collected in raids on northern England – the enemy thus paying for what they had destroyed.

A few houses were almost complete, labourers clambering over the structures, covering thatch with stone-weighted nets. The rest were only half built, men hauling timber and stone from carts, others hammering in nails, or mixing up mud for the daubing. A smell of freshly sawn wood filled the air. As their king walked through their midst, men paused in their labours to bow or call out a greeting. It had been a slow process, but after many years absent from his earldom, he was finally regaining the trust and respect of the people of Carrick.