Page 127 of Bound By Honor
The weather improved as the weeks passed so it was not a burden to be outside except when it rained, which was often enough for them to oil their cloaks.
As news of Robert Bruce’s return spread around the countryside, men came to him—poor men, broken men and valiant warriors stricken with a passion to free Scotland from England’s yoke. As Angus and the king observed the new men in camp, King Robert said, “It is just as Lady Áine told me.”
“My wife spoke of this day? These men?”
“Not exactly. She spoke of another king who walked through deep valleys, hunted as I am, one to whom God brought men like these to stand with him. She spoke of King David of Israel.”
“Ah, I see. Yes, she mentioned that. My lady knows the Scriptures.”
On another day, into their camp, accompanied by some of Angus’ guards, came a woman known to the king, a former mistress of the Earl of Carrick named Christian. Her tunic was a simple woolen one and her cloak dark green, blending with the woods around them. “I have brought men and supplies,” she said.
“Bless you, my lady,” replied Robert Bruce.
She glanced at Angus and then at the king’s companions before saying, “I also bring sad news, for which you may curse me.”
“What news?” the king asked, his expression turning grave.
“’Tis your brothers, Thomas and Alexander. They sailed into Loch Ryan where their galleys and Irish kerns were quickly overwhelmed by forces under Dungal MacDouall, a friend of the Balliols and the Comyns. I am told only two galleys escaped. MacDouall executed Lord McQuillan.”
“And my brothers?” asked the king. His face told Angus his friend dreaded what he would hear next.
She paused and then said, “All the leaders were taken. Your brothers were badly wounded, my lord. Along with Sir Reginald, they were sent to Carlisle and presented to King Edward who has come north in pursuit of you.” In a final rush of words, she added, “He executed all three and set their heads on the gates of the castle.”
The king turned away and said under his breath, “Three of my four brothers dead, my dear ones lost and their blood on my hands.”
Angus laid his hand on Rob’s shoulder. “Courage, my king. They willingly accepted the risk and would not regret so noble a death as to die for you and Scotland.”
To Angus’ great relief, James Douglas returned the next day with news that cheered all. Alight with excitement of his victory, the young man with wild black hair eagerly told the king his news. “Douglas Castle, under the command of Sir Robert Clifford, was crawling with English when we arrived. Being few in number, we had to be clever.
“As Palm Sunday was approaching, my men and I planned a surprise. When the garrison of thirty men left the castle for St. Bride’s Church a mile away, we disguised ourselves as local peasants and hid among the congregation.
“In the church, I raised my war cry, ‘A Douglas’. Hearing it, my men and the locals who were with us killed twenty soldiers and took ten prisoners. At the castle, we found only the cook, the steward and a few others so we barred the gates. A banquet had been prepared for Edward’s men. Hungry as we were, my men and I invited in the servants and sat down to dine. We ate what we could and piled the rest in the cellar along with the grain and wine we could not carry and set it afire to which we added our ten dead prisoners.
“The castle burned to the ground, thus depriving the English of my stronghold. After that, we took to the hills, avoiding pursuit by Sir Robert Clifford, who managed to escape, being elsewhere at the time.”
When Douglas appeared disappointed at the king’s lukewarm smile in response, Angus took the young warrior aside and explained recent events. Douglas turned somber at hearing of the deaths of the king’s brothers. “How could they kill Alexander? He was the Dean of Glasgow, a churchman!”
“Apparently, Edward overlooked such niceties for Alexander’s relationship to the king.”
Douglas frowned, his black brows drawing together. “Aye, he would, the bastard.”
At a time when the king was surrounded by enemies and his mood at its lowest ebb, the guards Angus had ranged around the camp proved their worth, bringing news of an approaching force.
“How many?” inquired Angus in the presence of the king.
“About two hundred on horseback. Their speech is that of the Galwegians,” said the guard. “I warrant they are MacDoualls.”
King Robert said, “So, they think to come for the two remaining Bruce brothers. Where are they?”
“Approaching the riverside path, my lord.” The nearby river provided fresh water for King Robert’s forces so they were very familiar with its twists and turns.
Calling for Sir Gilbert Haye, who had assumed the role of constable, the king said, “We will go to the riverbank. There is a narrow ford there where the water is shallow. They will surely be forced to use it.”
Angus and the knights followed the king and Sir Gilbert with a large force. As they neared the river, they could hear men and horses moving on the other side, their dark outlines stark in the moonlight.
Rob ordered Sir Gilbert, Angus and the others to stay back and went to the riverside alone to wait for the MacDoualls.
Angus’ right hand nervously clutched the hilt of his sword while his left hand gripped his dagger. His sparth axe he had left in camp. With his heart hammering in his chest, he peered through the darkness lit only by the moon reflecting off the water.
