“He saw Balliol’s weakness, and my grandfather’s strength, and that’s why Edward chose Balliol,” Robert growled.
“You sound as if you wish to rebel,” de Burgh said, smirking. “Where is your father, then?” De Burgh made a show of twisting around in his horse as if searching for Robert’s father before facing Robert once more. His lip curled back in a taunting smile. “Ah yes, your father does not have the fortitude to rule Scotland. If he did, he would have risen in rebellion with the people who would fight against Edward in Balliol’s name. Fall in line with me, Bruce,” de Burgh threatened. “You have no other choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” he spit out, finding the hilt of his sword and flicking his gaze toward Niall and Robert’s vassals some one hundred yards behind them. Robert looked to de Burgh once more and motioned toward the captured men. “Release them.”
“You insolent, foolish pup!” de Burgh growled, spittle flying from his mouth. “Stand down! Moray!” de Burgh roared. “I give you to the count of ten before I order my guards to fill the outbuilding with your men, and we can all watch them burn.”
A window at the front of the castle banged open, and a woman—Lady Moray, Robert realized—appeared. “My husband is nae here, so we kinnae send him out.”
De Burgh snorted. “She expects us to believe Moray did not come here to gather more men?”
“Perhaps he did nae,” Robert said, seeing a chance to prevent bloodshed. “Moray rebels by the renegade William Wallace’s side, and Wallace’s men keep to the woods. Perhaps Moray went there first.”
“I don’t believe it,” de Burgh snapped. To Lady Moray he shouted, “Lower your bridge. I will see for myself if you speak the truth.”
“Nay, ye Irish scum! Ye simper and cater to the English king!” Lady Moray bellowed.
Robert’s fingers curled tighter around the cool iron of his sword. There would be war today, after all. Lady Moray had just shot an arrow of barbed words at a man who wore his pride like a cloak.
De Burgh’s face turned purple. “Burn them!” he cried, his voice trembling with rage. The two guards standing near the door rushed to open it, and as they did, de Burgh flicked his hand to a slight guard who held the torch. “Set the fire when the door is closed.”
Shouts erupted from the captured warriors, and Robert’s blood rushed through his veins and roared in his ears. His life was about to change forever. But his honor would remain intact. He would rise in rebellion, not for Balliol to be returned to the throne as king, but for the people of Scotland to keep their freedom. He could worry of nothing else now.
The terrified shouts of Moray’s men as they were locked in the falconry pierced the roar of blood in his ears. “Tell yer men to halt,” Robert yelled to de Burgh. “Do so now and take yer leave from Moray’s land, or I’ll kill ye.” His heart beat like a drum.
De Burgh bared his teeth. “You have misplaced your loyalty, Bruce.”
Robert flicked his gaze past de Burgh, over the rocky ground that separated the two of them from the warriors in the distance, to Niall at the front of Robert’s vassals. He raised his right hand and swiveled it round, giving the signal to rebel.
Niall smiled, a flash of white against his sun-bronzed skin. He raised his own hand and returned the signal. They would live or die this day, but they would do it with honor.
Tension vibrated through every part of Robert’s body as he yelled, “To arms for Scotland!”
All at once, the hissing, scraping, sliding, and singing of seven hundred blades filled the air, and the clashing of steel sounded in the distance. A woman’s scream ripped through the noise, shocking Robert by how close it was. De Burgh swung his sword at Robert, but Robert parlayed the blow and unseated de Burgh with one move. With no time to waste, he turned his horse toward the outbuilding, and he gaped at the scene before him. The squire who held the torch was running from de Burgh’s guards and toward Robert. The young man suddenly swerved toward the moat and threw the torch toward it. The bright flame disappeared into the water, and Robert raced to save the man who would likely be killed for his actions.
Robert met the guards halfway to the squire, who was now running back toward him. He parried a blow from the left, then the right, and caught a glimpse of Niall riding fast toward him.
“Release the trapped men!” he yelled to the Campbell, but in a breath, de Burgh’s warriors descended on his friend, now engaged in a battle for his life.
Behind Robert, the loud grating of the drawbridge being lowered stilled all motion for a moment. God’s teeth! Surely, Lady Moray was not lowering it in surrender. Within a breath, the thundering of hundreds of horses’ hooves against the wooden bridge set a buzz in the air that seemed to vibrate into Robert’s very bones.
When he glanced around for the squire, he saw nothing but English knights heading toward him. He raised his sword in defense of an oncoming hit, knocked the blade out of the knight’s hand, and nudged his mount out of the way of another Englishman. It had turned him directly toward the bridge where Lady Moray herself came riding out, her red hair billowing behind her as she led her husband’s warriors in a charge. They appeared to number almost two hundred, not near enough that they could have withstood an attack from the combined forces of the Bruce men and the English garrison, but they had more than enough to overcome the English if the lady intended to join forces with Robert. But did she?
As she rode, she shouted, “Free our men. Free our men! Someone free our men!”
Robert swept his gaze back to the outbuilding, and the breath was snatched from his chest. The young squire had somehow managed to get to the outbuilding. Niall was there, as well, along with six more of Robert’s men. They held the English guards back, but one broke free and raised his sword to strike down the squire as he stepped toward the door and seemed to be opening it. Robert ripped his dagger from its sheath and flung it with all his might toward the knight. The dagger pierced the man’s hand as he was bringing his sword down and he dropped his weapon. The squire, who’d turned toward his attacker, eyes wide with fear, twisted back around to the door and slung it open. Moray’s men poured out, weaponless.
Robert unhooked his shield from his saddle, and then dismounted amid the chaos, his sword in one hand and his shield in the other. He raced toward the stumbling Moray men and the squire, parrying blows as he went. When he reached the boy, a call to fire at the lad and the Moray men went out from de Burgh. Cursing, Robert looked to his right to find that a line of knights had covered the distance from the scrimmage below to the castle, and they were lined up to shoot. Robert shoved the boy behind him, as a volley of arrows flew through the air. They clanked against his shield.
“Again!” de Burgh shouted, clearly not caring if he struck down his own men.
Robert moved to shield the boy once more, but the squire stepped out from behind Robert and ripped off his helmet. Long blond hair tumbled out over his—no,her—shoulders. Robert could do no more than stare in shock at de Burgh’s daughter, Elizabeth de Burgh. Her clear blue gaze met his for a brief moment.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” came de Burgh’s frantic call.
The chit’s eyes, bluer than any Robert had ever beheld, widened with what appeared to be shock. Had she thought her father may not save her?
She turned to Robert. “Thank you for your aid, my lord.” The words tumbled from her mouth in a rush, and then to Robert’s surprise, she dashed, as graceful as a deer fleeing a predator, past him and toward her father.
