Chapter 13
He woke at sun’s first light, with the strains of the regimental piper keening in the distance, and inhaled the crisp dawn air that smelled of the brilliant blue sky to come.
James knew battle tactics well, and was an expert swordsman and champion archer. Today he’d don his armored breastplate, trading bonnet for a helmet of steel. Today was the day he would lead an army in defense of church and country, and he thought his chest would burst from the joy of it.
He and General Leslie broke their fast with oatcakes and cold rashers. They’d not risk smoke from a fire that morning, even though the townsfolk would have to be hidden under some pretty large rocks not to know what was about to hit Aberdeen.
“The Brig o’ Dee guards the main approach, aye?” General Leslie nodded to the bridge in question, then paused to clear his throat, thick from the early hour and hoarse in the way of a man who lived hard.
He spat, then continued, “They’ve dug in around the city, but ’tis a blind man who wouldn’t see our approach. You can be sure they’ll marshal forces at the mouth of the bridge, and that’s where we’ll dance.”
James had harbored hopes that the townsfolk would see reason and, greeting the Covenanting troops as protectors, sign their fealty to the cause. But scouts had brought news that the men of Aberdeen had raised a militia, now entrenched in various key points on the outskirts of the town.
The dry food stuck in his throat, and James washed it down with a swig of icy water from the Dee. He was sorely wanting a cup of tea, and he believed it would be one of the first things on his mind at the battle’s conclusion.
Nodding at the general’s words, James looked around at the men in their charge. A few noblemen had come to stand at their side, in their armored kit, second sons the lot of them, he’d wager.
The rest of the men were in various states of traditional clothing.
Hardened by their years fighting in Germany, Leslie’s hired mercenaries had forsaken heavy armor, instead donning additional weaponry and clothing that allowed for agility and speed.
Most wore close-fitting trews and a leather vest, with a musket on the shoulder and sword at the hip.
A small band of Highlanders had gathered for the cause as well, and James had to smile at the audacious lot of them.
He hadn’t seen the men set camp—they’d merely disappeared the night before, reappearing like mist with the dawn.
They dressed like true Scotsmen in belted plaids; some bore only tall hooked pikes, others carried dirks and scarred shields, and a few wore claymores strapped at their backs.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your repast, gentlemen.”
James and Leslie looked up at the source of the sarcasm to find Campbell standing over them. A long royal blue waistcoat, knee breeches, and hose announced that he would not be seeing battle that day.
“I see I’ve dressed for our side this morning,” he added snidely. Inspired by the blue talisman James had pinned to his bonnet, dozens of blue ribbons had sprung up in just as many shades, knotted from bonnets, or worn as sashes across chests.
“Aye,” James replied smoothly, “the men are calling it the Covenanting blue.”
Campbell looked in the distance, disdain souring his features. “I see not everybody has been informed of your winsome badge.”
A group of Irish, many no more than boys, had gathered not far from them.
James had been surprised to find that Irishmen had come to bear arms with them, and was told merely that they’d come to repay a debt.
They had stood out at once from the crowd, having all, inexplicably, donned long yellow shirts for battle.
“Aye,” Leslie answered slowly, picking the oats from his teeth. He studied Campbell’s coat. “We need all the swords we can get today, seeing as not all stand at the ready.”
Ignoring the jibe, Campbell said, “Ah, you remind me.” Pursing his thin lips, he shrieked out a whistle and a young boy appeared with a dog at the end of a cloth leash.
Campbell thrust his hand toward the boy, making him balk. “Come, lad.” he scolded, “I’ve not all day.”
Face crumpled in a mixture of terror and anger, the young boy reluctantly handed the whimpering dog to Campbell.
“I find it auspicious to greet a day of battle having fleshed my maiden sword.”
His blade, a showy broadsword with gilded basket and filigreed base, swept down, catching the mutt at the shoulder, clumsily cleaving his head from his body.
The young boy let out an anguished cry, and James jumped to his feet, hand poised on the sword at his side in outrage and horror. “What are you about, man?”
“Don’t just gape like an idiot, lad,” Campbell chided the young boy. He nudged the limp body with the flat of his blade. “Take this thing away.”
General Leslie merely looked away, bored distaste playing across his features, as he continued to pick at his teeth.
“So guileless, James?” Campbell laughed. “Do you think that title of yours was a reward for noble goodwill? No, Marquis, your wealth was bought with the blood of those who came before you. You’re off to battle today. Now act it.”
James remained standing, jaw set and steel in his eyes.
“Now, Leslie,” Campbell continued as if James were no longer there, “how do you plan to manage today’s affair?”
“We march on the bridge,” the smaller man replied, spitting some bit of food from his mouth. “We use musket fire first. What doesn’t scare off the townsfolk will thin them. We hold fast in the center. Once it gives, we charge in and finish it.”
“The townsfolk shall be offered clemency,” James interjected. “My desire is for order and civility above all. Provisions shall be replaced, and none will suffer needlessly. Once Aberdeen fully understands the king’s folly, I am certain they will accede.”
“Is that how it will be?” Campbell asked, his tone inscrutable.
“Aye,” James replied. “And how else?”
The sound of so many marching feet echoed loudly off the stone bridge, strafing the gently rushing river below. The Dee was in flood, and Leslie had decreed they’d charge on the bridge, forgoing any supplemental attacks from the right or left flanks.
It was a brutal firefight lasting hours, the muskets of the Aberdeen militia having proved unsettlingly tenacious, biting leisurely into the ranks of the Covenant soldiers whenever they attempted an advance.
By day’s end, the town’s spirits ran high. The accidental realization that their militia could hold their defenses intact against a well-funded attack bolstered them with newfound confidence.
James, however, felt as gutted as his ranks. Many men had fallen. Walking through the camp at day’s end found the injured tending themselves in grim silence, binding—and in the worst cases cauterizing—their wounds.
Those who’d survived the day despaired of the fight. The Highlanders, armed mostly with hand-to-hand weaponry instead of guns, were disheartened that Leslie hadn’t let them see much of the fighting at all.
The Irishmen, defying all reason as well as a dozen briskly shouted orders to fall back, had charged the bridge on foot and had been first to fall in the line of fire.
James scrubbed his face and hands in the frigid river water and returned to his tent to find Magda there waiting for him. A sense of relief hummed through him at the sight of her, and rather than send her away, he thought to allow himself the pleasure of the distraction.
“Good evening, hen.” His voice rasped from a day of shouting over the din of battle. “I thought I’d left you in Napier’s care. You should be in a croft far from here, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I . . . I had to see if you were alright. Don’t blame Napier,” she added quickly. “I’ve promised I’d let him return me after I saw with my own eyes that you were alright.”
“I’m glad of it.” He stared at her for a moment. He’d thought to muster a smile he didn’t feel, and instead let the concern writ on her face be a balm to his soul. Abruptly, he looked down and began to disarm.
"For something that preserves me, och”— James fumbled with the leather straps connecting the breast- and backplates of his armored vest—"this fool contrivance will surely be my death.”
Magda instinctively reached to help him shoulder out of his gear.
“Ah, I am most indebted, kind mistress.”
Pulling the front flap of his tent aside, he tossed his armor in with a loud clatter, then turned back to find Magda staring at him, frozen.
Glancing down, James saw that the torso of his quilted coat retained its pristine buff color, a jarring contrast to the gore spattered across its sleeves and collar.
She clutched her arms to her chest as if suddenly chilled, roving her eyes along his body to ensure he was intact.
Moved by the look of worry pinching her broad brow, James said in a deep Scottish burr, “Och, you’ll not fash yourself, lassie.” He smiled. “It worked, aye? I got your bonny mouth to twitch up at the edges a bit. Now let’s see a light in those green eyes.”
James paused for a moment, his own despair rising once again to the surface. “I need to see your smile, hen.”
“How was it?” she asked, still visibly taken aback by the reality of battle.
“Bide with me.” Crumpling his coat into a ball, he threw it into a far corner of the tent and eased himself down just inside.
With a heavy sigh, he stretched his powerful legs through the opening.
He’d worn close-fitting trews that day. The brass buttons that had studded along his outer leg were now missing, and Magda quickly glanced away from the hard, sinewy patch of thigh revealed through the tear.
“’Twas a bit of a disaster, aye? But, truly lass, first I’d hear of you. I see you survived my brother-in-law.”
“Of course I survived.” The hint of a smile played on her face. “But he is a serious type, isn’t he?”