The Honor Due a King (29 page)

I shook myself. “I’m sorry, Thomas. ’Tis you who are skilled in diplomacy, not I. I thought it best to remain silent. I’m a Scots soldier. He’s English. My thoughts were not on statecraft, I regret.”

“Nor were they in the room, I say. But whatever it is,” he said curtly, “Robert sent you on this mission for a reason. If you have other problems, you need to leave them behind before we reach Edinburgh.” He peeled from the trail and went to claim his resting spot for the remainder of the night next to a few shoulder-high boulders on a low hillside.

I moved up swiftly beside Rosalind and caught the bridle of her horse. “Go back,” I said. “Go to Lancaster. Make yourself a life there.”

She recoiled. “What? You ask me to stay, to be your wife ... and now you tell me to go? What
do
you want?”

Our horses were facing opposite directions. Our knees touched. I clutched the edge of her saddle, leaning close. “I told you what it is that I want. You ran from me and said not a word more. In the several hours we have been together since, you have barely acknowledged me and far from given an answer. Unless you tell me otherwise this moment, the reluctance of your reply is answer enough.”

“That is a crude way of wooing, James Douglas.”

“You love me or not, Rosalind. Which is it?”

She swung her head away. “Yes ... I do.” Sudden tears choked her, so that she could say no more.

“Then why, why is this so hard for you? You have been welcome in my house, have you not? No one there cares which side of the border you were born on. I vow King Robert will give his blessing. I want you with me, Rosalind. What do
you
want?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Her lips quivered. Moonlight shimmered upon the crystal tears that streaked her cheeks. “It’s not as easy as saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

“Why?”

“Because ... I know.” She looked at me through eyes as dark as the bottomless lakes by which we had ridden. “It was your arrow that killed my husband William.”

My heart faltered. I let go of her saddle.

But I did not know you then, Rosalind. And if not for that grievous stroke of fortune, you and I would not have come to know each other. How could I ever say I am sorry for it ... what I am not?

No words to heal her hurt or make right any of the past, I got down from my horse and began to untie my pack. I took it to where Randolph was straightening out his own blanket and threw my things down, then went back to my horse to tend it. Rosalind was still mounted, her shoulders slumped, the tears dripping from the clear line of her jaw as she cried silently.

“Come down,” I said holding my hands out to her. “Get some rest tonight.”

Her face lifted, but she did not look at me. Instead, she gazed out toward a ridgeline, a rolling silhouette against the steel gray of the sky. For a few moments, she did not move.

She snapped up her reins. “We’re being watched.”

I held my breath, strained my eyes and ears. Randolph by then was keen to something as well. His blade flashed. Bent low and on silent feet, he came to us, pulled Rosalind’s horse toward the boulders where he had left his bedding. He coaxed her down and indicated for her to hide behind the rocks. As I joined them, I dug a loop-ended bowstring from its pouch, took my bow stave from where I had slung it on my saddle and in a matter of seconds had it ready. I had only a small cache of arrows stored in my bag. Several I tucked in my belt, the rest I stuck in the ground at my feet. The last I laid against the waxed bowstring.

“Why don’t we take to our horses? We can outride them,” Rosalind whispered. “Isn’t that why the king gave them to you?”

“Outride them?” Randolph’s brow lifted. “Aye, perhaps. But we’ve no way of knowing that there aren’t more of them out there. If we ride out over these moors, with no cover, anyone could sight us. And we could be lured straight into a trap.” He sank down, his face pressed against the rock. “Where did you go while we were meeting with Lancaster, Lady Rosalind?”

I pulled back on the bowstring and aimed the point of my shaft straight at Randolph’s head. “I’m of a mind to let loose on you for even thinking that, let alone giving breath to it.”

“What a grievous impulse that would be. Put your arrow to better use, James. There’s someone coming at us now.”

I stepped up on a low rock and peered above the bigger one. Scrambling over the dark hillside, a form skulked. Quietly, I jumped down, then crept alongside the boulder and leaned out from it. The boulder was to my right and so I had to expose more of myself than I wanted to.

Like a wolf on the attack, the man ran at me. His legs wheeled rapidly over the barely lit ground, sidestepping every stone and clump of grass with the nimbleness of a hill sheep. I gripped the belly of my stave, pulled tight, and waited. He let out a yip, as if signaling the rest of the pack to join in the kill. I honed in on the sound and released my arrow. The shaft ripped into his throat, drowning his cry in a gurgle of foaming blood. He staggered, fell forward, kicked in agony. Thrashing, he rolled down the hill. By the time he came to rest in the swale at the foot of the hill, he was no longer moving.

Behind me, Rosalind squealed and dropped to a crouch. A shadow leapt over the lower boulder at Randolph. He slashed wildly with his sword. Hand to hand, they struggled as the attacker tried to wrest the sword from Randolph’s grip. I nocked another arrow, but it was too hard to see, they were too close. I dropped my bow, pulled loose my sword. But before I could engage our foe, Rosalind had picked up a fist-sized stone and smashed it down hard on his left foot. The howl he let out was pause enough for Randolph to slam the butt of his weapon into the man’s jaw and send him reeling backward toward me. The wretch never saw the point of my blade coming as it gored his liver and exited his front side. Then I wrenched my blade free. The man fell dead at my feet, face down.

When I glanced at Rosalind, she was shaken, but not shocked.

Randolph gave a pert nod of thanks. “There are more.”

“How many?” I said.

“One at least.” Randolph nudged the dead man away with the toe of his boot. “Somewhere over near where the first one came from. If there were many more they’d have fallen on us all at once and taken us. Highwaymen, judging by their lack of device. Trained soldiers would have done a better job of it. Just the same, if they’ve any notion of who we are, or that we’re Scots, there’s a price on our heads worth their effort. So stay here, keep the lady safe. I’m going to ride the last one down.”

I would have told him he was mad had I thought it would do any good. In a bound, Randolph was on his horse, slapping it hard on the rump and racing laterally along the crest of the ridge and then up and over it. The pounding of hooves ceased as blade struck blade.

I wiped the flat of my sword against my leggings, staining them. From the small sheath at my hip, I took my father’s knife and handed it, handle first, to Rosalind. She grabbed at it without hesitation. Then, above the sounds of combat, came the rumble of feet over the heathery ground. I leapt on top of the low rock and saw, coming from opposite directions, two men, brandishing their weapons.

“More,” I warned.

Rosalind wedged herself into the tightest corner she could find and squatted, the knife grasped white-knuckled in both hands. I jumped to the tallest boulder, luring them toward me with a taunt.

“Come on then! Two dead already. Where’s the challenge?”

But only one came at me. The other went straight for Rosalind.

My assailant flew at me, his sword raised high. But I had the higher vantage point and when he levied his first swipe, I had but to step backward to avoid it. Agile and determined, he scurried up the slope. As he sought to gain balance, I ducked low and swung. My blade cut sideways and dug into his knee. The surprise sent him toppling backward in a flurry of waving arms. He hit the ground and I leapt on top of him. With a telling flick he started to swing his sword upward at my leg, but I crushed his wrist under my boot. With one shove, I drove my blade into the soft of his belly.

When I turned, Rosalind was being held tight against the chest of her attacker. White hair, shorn unevenly, stuck straight out from his head. He laughed cruelly and pressed the sharp edge of his sword against Rosalind’s smooth neck. I made a step toward them, but he pressed it harder, making a clear indent across her flesh. She mouthed the word ‘no’ at me, then looked down. I followed her eyes and there, the blade tucked up against her forearm and the handle hidden in her palm, was the knife.

His lip lifted in a sneer. “The king will pay dearly for her.”

I held my arms out wide. “Tell him she’s not worth whatever it is he’s promised you. Cost me my last shilling, she did, and even that was too much to pay for her ordinary favors. So I’ve no quarrel with you. Have her yourself. You’ll toss her aside erelong.”

He gave me a puzzled look at first and then changed to one of wicked triumph. I took a step back and as I turned to go, the knife in Rosalind’s hand bit deep into his thigh. He roared in agony. Rosalind sank her teeth into his arm. His sword fell to the ground with a ‘clank’. She tore from his hold and came to me. In her hand, she clutched the bloody knife.

“You should have tried stealing the horse instead,” I told him. “I would have let you go then without a fight. The horse was worth fifty shillings. Idiot.” Without further thought, I punched the tip of my blade through his padded jacket and into his gut. He died with a gasp, toppling to the earth, my arm following the blade still buried in his intestines.

I let go of the weapon and took Rosalind in my arms. Her heart beat wildly against my chest, leaping and pausing before taking up its erratic rhythm again. I slowed my breathing, listened, raised my head to the fading stars of the night sky.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Nothing. I don’t hear anything.” We stood there together, holding each other, the three fallen bodies lying close by, another lifeless in the heather beyond. We listened, but we heard no sign of Randolph or the fight he had taken up. Carefully, I freed my sword. Then, holding Rosalind’s hand, I peered out over the heather as the first sliver of dawn lit the eastern horizon.

There, over the ridge, hobbled Thomas Randolph. He limped toward us on foot, a scowl of disgust twisting his fine lips.

“Where’s your horse?” I asked him.

“Two of the bastards.” He snatched the flask tied to my saddle and sank down on his haunches next to the boulder. “One of them dragged me down while the other stole my good Irish horse. The thief between them was greedier than he was loyal. He was gone that fast. The other, though, was a fair opponent.” He drank deep and long, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I see you had hard work. Well, no time to waste. We can’t take a chance on the one who got away leading others to us.”

“Rosalind can ride behind me,” I said. “You can have the other horse.”

He looked from one to the other of us, then nodded. Rosalind bent down to look over his wounds.

“Can you ride?” She slid her fingers below a small cut on his forehead and wiped the thin trail of blood from it.

He scoffed, took another drink. “Certainly.”

“King Edward sent them after us,” I said. “But it’s you and I, Randolph, who were marked for dead. They wanted Rosalind alive.”

We rode north as fast as we could with no sleep to be found or food in our stomachs. My horse was slowed by the extra rider, being a horse meant for speeding over the open and not for carrying extra weight. It was near to three days before we reached Lintalee and there we rested well before readying to return to Edinburgh.

I paused on the steps above him, just outside the double doors to my hall. A fresh horse had been readied for him. “I’d go with you, but –”

“Stay, James. Rosalind needs a strong arm to guard her. I’d say she was as much hunted as we are.”

A guard of ten men waited at his back, so that he could carry his message to the king in all safety. “Then you have no suspicions of her anymore?”

“I do, actually, but none of that matters. You don’t, James, and you’d do everything in your power to defend her. I’m not sure what it is between you, exactly, but I’ll give you time to figure it out.” He lifted his hand in farewell and took to his mount. “I’ll see you again when duty calls. Until then, take good care of her.”

Randolph’s riding party disappeared along the wooded trail. The song of birds filled the forest as they danced limb to limb in the dappled sunlight. When I turned to go back up the stairs, Rosalind was looking at me from the open doorway.

“A shilling?” Her mouth curved in a pleasant line. “I do hope you were jesting when you said I was only worth a shilling and your horse was worth fifty.”

I went to her and lifted her chin with a finger. “I’ve no idea,” I said, placing a light kiss on her lower lip. “Though you may prove me a liar, if ever you wish to. Now, you still owe me an answer.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? What more answer do you need, James Douglas?”

Edward II - Pontefract, 1322

L
ancaster and Hereford. In union with the Bruce. I had suspected it even before the aborted siege on Berwick. Now I knew.

Hugh Despenser and I rode at the head of a large contingent past Baghill and through the south gate of Pontefract. The morning had dawned in rare brilliance. Even the flies, it seemed, were too content to be a bother.

“I feel ... omnipotent – like Zeus throwing lightning bolts to smite my enemies.” I glanced at Hugh beside me. “Is that blasphemous of me to say?”

“It is.” His mouth curved into a wicked smile. “But what a glorious feeling it must be. They defied you, Edward. They’ll now receive their due: Lancaster, Mortimer –”

“Phhh, the queen insisted on sparing his life. Went to her knees. Tears, wailing like a –”

“Mortimer? Why?”

“Because he gave himself up willingly.” Last year, the barons had forced the exile of Hugh and his father. In January, Sir Roger Mortimer, along with other Marcher Lords, rose up in rebellion. The same old argument had surfaced that they had used during Piers’ time: that I had disregarded the Ordinances and allowed Hugh undue favors. Rumors were that Lancaster was treating with the Scots and had plotted to take part in the uprising, as well, but at the final hour, he had turned coward and stayed home, leaving Mortimer and his aged uncle to fend for themselves. Starving and with soldiers deserting them daily, the rebels surrendered at Shrewsbury. Had it not been for Isabella’s pleas, Roger Mortimer, his eldest son and his aged uncle would have been hanged and quartered. Instead, they would live out their natural lives in the Tower – unless some untimely misfortune or malady befell them. Entirely possible. Meanwhile, I recalled Hugh to my side and set my hounds on Lancaster’s trail. Sir Andrew Harclay engaged him at Boroughbridge. And won.