Page 63 of The Scot

Chapter 26

Terric rode with his hands held high into the air. Even still, he knew the danger. All it would take was for one overly excited knight to unleash a rain of arrows on his head. The advance had slowed, at least. Which meant he was already achieving his goal.

They were far enough away from the bridge, the terrain uneven, that only the thickest of smoke could be seen at this distance. So long as James acted quickly, he doubted any of the opposing force would know what had happened until it was too late. His enemy now was time. Time, and the scout who’d undoubtedly been sent ahead. He did not see one but had no doubt they would have used one.

“Terric Kennaugh,” he shouted, likely too far away to be heard. Despite his training, Terric’s heart pounded in his chest as it did every time he went into battle. Taking a deep breath, he started again. “Terric Kennaugh, chief of Clan Kennaugh, Earl of Dromsley. I’ve come to treat with Lords Ulster and Langham.”

One of the two men at the front of the group held up an arm. He estimated no less than two hundred men rode behind them, but all went silent at the gesture.

“You are a long way from Dromsley, my lord.”

Terric could not see the man’s face. All of the leaders were helmed. But judging from the way he held himself, Terric guessed he was an older man. Ulster, by his guess.

“Here to persuade you to turn back, Lord Ulster.”

The man’s hesitation meant Terric had been correct. “Here? An unlikely location for a negotiation, would you not agree?”

If the man guessed Terric was plotting something, he might send a man ahead. The scout would catch James, and they’d no doubt both be killed.

So much could go wrong, but he had no choice but to keep pushing forward.

“May I approach?”

There was a pause. Ulster leaned over to the man next to him—Langham?—and then straightened. The mere thought that this could be the man that had sent Roysa running to Dromsley for her life made him murderous.

“Without your sword.”

Terric had expected the request but liked it not at all. Without his weapon, he was powerless.

Nay, not completely. I still have my wits.

Slowly drawing the sword at his side, Terric tossed it to the ground, thankful his father’s sword was home, in the hands of his twin brother.

Riding closer, ever so slowly, Terric stopped just in front of the leaders. None of them removed their helms.

“You march on Dromsley,” he said boldly.

“We march against your rebellion.” That, from the man next to Ulster.

“Lord Langham?” he guessed. When the two men laughed, Terric reassessed the situation. If this was not Langham’s banner, whose was it? He’d not seen it before, and from years of fighting at the Tournament of the North, Terric could name as many English coats of arms as he could Scottish plaids.

“Why are you here?”

He paused for as long as possible.

Hurry, James.

“I’ve no wish for a siege,” he said, still watching Ulster’s companion.

“You propose a battle, then?” the man asked.

“Nay,” he said, with another pause. “I propose peace.”

More laughter.

“Peace? By undermining King John’s rule? But then, you are hardly an English earl, are you, Chief?” Ulster said.

Terric’s grip tightened on his reins.