Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
T he beach exploded in chaos... smoke from the fires, the sounds of battle, bodies scattered across the sand, waves more of bodies that bobbed in the bloodied surf like pieces of wood...
He watched apart from it, then in the midst of it; jumping down from his horse, the long sword in his right hand, the short blade in his left, slicing, hacking through the English line, his armor covered with the blood of those who fell, then sweeping forward, cutting down one man, then moving on the next...
A face in the midst of the dying... Robbie, and the warning...
He turned...
Too late, the blow slicing at his sword arm, and he was falling, the sand sucking at his boots, waves washing over him...
He fought it, cursing the pain that tore through him, cursing the beast that stood over him...
And cursed God as the dragon darkened the sky, blood dripping its fangs...
Ruari fought his way out of the nightmare dream. Cold sweat slipped down his back as he came off the pallet.
Slowly, like the mist at the beach that long ago day at Calais, the sounds eventually slipped away, the smoke from the fires glowing in the dying embers of the camp fires, and the bodies that lay about him were his kinsmen--snoring, moving about restlessly then settling once more, one of the guards James had set, leaning back against the trunk of a massive oak, the horses making wuffling sounds at their tethers.
It was always the same--the nightmare dream, Blackwood standing over him, a smirk at the hawk-like features as he raised his sword once more for the death blow that never came.
Instead, that warning shout as the battle had shifted, the English dead thick at the beachhead as the French and Scots forced them back to the sea, and Blackwood cursing as he fled with his men.
He rubbed what was left of his arm, as if he could ease the invisible pain that was a constant reminder of what had been lost, and his thoughts shifted to what lay ahead at Stirling.
Six days since they'd left Lechlede, skirting the Cairngorms, following trails along the edge of the mountains then leaving the shelter of those peaks that still carried snow this late in the season, and moving across the lowlands.
Others had joined them at Abh-More-- any man who could be spared and with skill at the pike or blade as word spread. Then, across the Tay and to Glenshee in Blair country.
The old chieftain of Clan Blair had once been allied with Clan Fraser. But times changed, and with them clan loyalties. Yet, the English march on Stirling, the same as the campaign four years before, made strange bed-fellows as Gabhran had often spoken of.
"Blair," he had snorted as they prepared to leave and the course before them was mapped out.
"A whoreson to be certain, but a good man in a fight. He must see that it is to his advantage to join with ye." Words of wisdom from past campaigns.
" But I wouldna trust him to put his pallet next to mine, if ye get my meaning."
"Nor mine," James had replied with much laughter that had broken the tension that had built for days once the decision to ride on Stirling was made.
"So that's the way of it," Robbie had commented. "Christ! I spent a fortnight at the old badger's keep last spring."
"How did it go?" Gabhran had asked with a devilish grin. "Did ye enjoy yerself?"
Several other comments were made at Robbie's expense. He had endured it with a red flush and then told them all to go to the devil.
Blair's brother and a proven warrior had joined them, the chieftain remaining behind much to everyone's amusement and Robbie's relief.
But there were others who had nodded in agreement when they met up, their expressions guarded. And in the end, there were several who held back with the excuses that they must see to the protection of the families and clan, Campbell among them, who made the excuse that he didn't see the threat as they did. James had wanted Campbell's support, but resigned himself that he would not have it.
"Better a half dozen loyal men, than a dozen who change with the wind," he had said.
Ruari drank from a skin of water, tying it off, and then reaching for the fleece at his pallet and another memory returned, one that he longed to hold onto, of that last night in the old place when for those few hours he was able to forget everything.
Her scent was still there, as if Alix had lain there with him just those hours past, the smell of sweet things that were always about her, and the memory of the feel of her hair slipping through his fingers, her hands bold, the look in her eyes as they joined.
He rolled the fleece as he had in a countless places, hundreds of times and laid it aside. A sound at the dying fire and he half expected to find her there, with a smile at her lips, and that sassy expression at her eyes.
He silently cursed. There would be no more sleep this night.
It was that memory that he held onto now, as he silently walked to the water's edge where they'd stopped to rest the horses before moving on.
The darkness wrapped around him, as it had in those other places, but he'd never felt the aloneness of it until now even with a camp of some two hundred men about him.
Was it that way for his brother?
What were James' thoughts, so far from Lechlede, his wife and children left behind with a bairn on the way, and what lay before them?
Death?
It was always possible. He'd learned that long ago, accepted it with no other thought that it would bring respite from the things that haunted him, the lives that had been lost, the ones he'd taken...
" Would you change it, if you could ?" Alix had asked him that last night when he spoke of things he'd never shared with another living soul.
He had answered then as he would now. He would not change any of it, for it was a thing, an evil that needed to be destroyed, before others were lost. And she had simply accepted it, accepted him with the demons that would haunt him until his last breath, with a passion that swept it all away so that there was only her...
"The night is long."
As if he had heard his thoughts or perhaps haunted by his own, James Fraser stepped from the shadows at the water's edge, silent, moving with the stealth learned from many campaigns, first as their father's war chief, now as chieftain of Clan Fraser.
"Too long," Ruari replied.
For all his twenty seven years, he had only a handful of memories of the man who was his half brother, yet he felt a kindred spirit for the same blood that flowed through them and the land they had been born too. But of the man's thoughts he knew little, except those shared over the long table at Lechlede and years before in the long ride both had taken to retrieve something that had come to have great value to the chieftain of Clan Fraser--a young woman who had suffered much at the hands of another that he'd wed, who carried the future of the clan in her womb, and with whom he'd found a measure of peace he had never thought possible.
Together they had brought Brynna and the future of the clan back to Lechlede. In the months since his own return from France and places beyond, he had seen the strength of that bond, not only in the children but in the quiet moments, a glance, a simple smile that passed between them, something that had been an empty hollow void in his own life, until a fierce, sassy girl refused to let him die.
What would the coming days bring? Death he had once wished for? He prayed not as his thoughts returned to her. But if that was to be his fate, then he would accept it knowing Alix was safe--safe by his promise, by the vows they'd spoken with one another, safe at Lechlede.
"How many more days?" he asked now, for he had never been to Stirling, but only heard it spoken of, the royal household of the king of Scotland.
"Three days," Robbie replied. "If the weather holds."
And Blackwood would be with Marshal.
Three days.
They had spoken among themselves and with De Brus of the confrontation that was to come. The end goal was to protect King Alexander and the queen mother, for they were the key to Scotland's independence. If Alexander was killed or taken prisoner to London, there to be paraded about as a trophy, the sovereignty of Scotland would be lost and they would be plunged into internal conflicts as the clans set upon one another like wolves picking at the spoils of war, under the heel of the English king.
The goal was to secure Stirling and the safety of the king and his court, in a race that still found them three days from there.
"We've had word," James said. "Meacham returned just this hour past. "Marshal is a day's ride ahead of us on the south road."
That meant he would reach Stirling in two days time.
"A dozen men on fast horses could reach Stirling in half the time."
Through the thickness of night, he felt James' gaze sharpen but he said nothing, waiting.
"A dozen men, skilled in such things, on fast horses could move about the countryside unseen."
"It would be dangerous," James finally spoke up. "Marshal is no fool. He will have men posted along the way to take word to him of any threat."
Ruari grinned. "But he does not know the countryside around Stirling."
"Neither do you, little brother."
"No, but I know a man who does."
De Brus had spent many years of his youth at the heels of his father at Stirling.
James was silent for a long time, then finally spoke.
"It would take strong men and strong horses to cover such a distance without stopping."
Ruari grinned. "I've heard it said that Fraser horses and horsemen have such strength and endurance, strength enough for the English to want them."
"A dozen men."
"No more, so not to draw attention--it would look like a hunting party to anyone who might see us," he added with a shrug of a shoulder. "Or raiders that none would bother."
When James made no argument against it, he knew he had won him over to his plan.
By the number of English that had been seen, even if those who gave them the information had only exaggerated a small amount, they were still sure to be outnumbered three to one. While many had joined them, many had not, caring more about their farms and families, ignoring the fact that if the English succeeded both would be lost as King Henry extended his rule into the north. A rule that meant servitude to an English overlord.
"Ye should leave before first light, take advantage of the night. Come day break it will be more dangerous."
Ruari flashed a smile. "Aye, it will."
The plan was set, the men chosen. With the information they'd learned the past days, a blood lust for the English was high. It was one thing for the enemy to always be at the back door. It was another that they had come through that door, setting up their outposts in the southern lands, pushing farther and farther north.
The strongest mounts had been chosen, highly prized Fraser horses bred for strength and endurance, conditioned in the mountains on rocky trails, and in the lowlands of Lechlede, through water, mud, and on narrow trails. As preparations were made, with provisions that would be needed on a non-stop ride, they pawed the early morning darkness.
There would be no stopping to rest, the possibility of an encounter with an English patrol and the risk that their movement would be learned was high. It was a risk they were all willing to take if it gave the others the advantage.
James clasped his right arm as they mounted up still under the cover of darkness. He glanced over at DeBrus.
"Watch yer backs, little brother."
Ruari nodded. "Je suis prest ."
They set a grueling pace, that wore on both the men and the horses, using the last hours of the night for cover as they rode in the open, the horses hooves wrapped to muffle the sound. As it grew light, they skirted a tree-line, DeBrus leading the way, pacing the horses between the lope, then at a ground eating run. They did not stop when darkness fell once more, aware that somewhere out there, Marshal and an English army were ahead of them.
They stopped only briefly near Ben Vorlich to water the horses, then pushed on, eating on the run as they pressed on, watchful for English patrols as they drew closer to Stirling. And somewhere behind them, James and their kinsmen moved more slowly with many afoot, toward that same destination.
Mud-splattered, with the dirt and grime of half of Scotland at their boots and tunics, it was a grim, determined group that arrived with the torch lights of Stirling visible in the distance... along with campfires that glowed all across the greensward below the castle walls.
"Marshal!" Ruari spat out.
In the growing twilight, many English were still arriving. But enough of the English were spread out along the base of the castle walls that approaching from the main entrance without being seen was impossible.
"And by the looks of it, they have only just arrived," DeBrus added.
They had all hoped they might arrive ahead of the English, but that hope was now gone, and with it their plan to simply ride up to the gates of Stirling Castle and ask to meet with King Alexander.
"What do we do now?" one of the men whispered.
De Brus looked over at Ruari.
"Follow me."
They moved like shadows in the darkness, taking a path beyond the edge of the village, climbing steadily, the mud sucking at the hooves of the horses, several slipping so that they were forced to continue afoot, leading them.
Clouds filled the night sky, blocking out the moonlight. It prevented them being seen, and also made the going treacherous.
Ruari was convinced they were lost in the thick tree cover, when the wall at the back of the fortress suddenly loomed in front of them. It was the outer bailey wall to the castle main that spread before them on the high plateau of a hill.
It was a defensible position if one knew the way to defend against a determined enemy. The English might well be determined, for Ruari had seen the siege engines they had brought with him.
Just in front of him, DeBrus dismounted and whispered low to one of his men. They disappeared into the darkness.
Long moments passed, then came a low whistle and they moved in the direction Robbie had gone.
"The iron latch is rusted," Robbie whispered. "But I persuaded it." He grinned in the half light. "The priest's door and a tunnel that will take us under the wall, across the inner yard, and to the lower chapel."
So much for completely defensible positions. All it would take is for one man with several more, to breech the castle.
The priest's door loomed before them, the hillside and towering walls reaching into the night sky, the bowels of Stirling castle beyond.
He ordered one of the Fraser men to ride back to James and tell him the English had arrived, along with the numbers they had seen.
"Take my horse," he told his Fraser kin. "He is your best chance to get through." Then he turned to Robbie.
"Get on with it!" he said, giving orders to his own men as he stepped into the darkness and felt along the stone wall of the passage.
The smell of it, the way the slightest sound slipped across the stone walls and whispered in the waiting silence, brought a flood of memories--the screams, a child weeping, the sound of the beatings, the silence that followed.
Old memories, innocence lost, and the quick flash of a blade that had ended the suffering with no remorse then, or now.
His hand brushed wood wrapped in thick linen, the acrid stench of burnt oil at his fingers. One of his men struck a flame, and a feeble light glowed then grew as it found the oil at the torch. Two men remained behind as the rest of them moved ahead, passing several turns in the passage.
A glimpse with torch in hand revealed a series of chambers. His mouth set with a grim expression, they continued to climb eventually reaching another door framed with iron, a cross carved into the wood.
They stopped and listened , then satisfied that no one was on the other side, one of De Brus' men put his shoulder to the stout door. Iron grated against iron, wood groaned as the door eventually gave way and for the first time in over a dozen years, Ruari Fraser stepped into a priest's private chambers.
One by one the others stepped inside behind him.
"Do you know the way to the king's hall?" Ruari asked.
"Well enough," De Brus replied. "I spent too many hours here, praying for my sins on my hands and knees. The priest's rooms are just beyond, and the main chapel just beyond that." He caught the look Ruari gave him.
DeBrus knew the reason he had been outlawed. He'd spoken of it only once when they were both well into the drink, then never again. There were things that were carried in a man's soul and festered like an open wound. It was always there. If a man was strong enough, he found a way to live with it.
"Not what ye think," De Brus assured him. "My father was not a man of faith, but he thought I should have the learning of it. He gave me plenty of warning about the ways of some men, and his dirk. I'd have cut the man's sack if he tried."
A chance that another young boy, and others like him, never had, Ruari thought. That was the memory he carried with him, not the killing of a soulless man.