“I’ve ridden next to ye since we were young and trained together at the Earl of Mar’s castle, Robbie. If I’m to ride to my death, there is nae anyone I’d rather be beside, but I think we ride to freedom. Let us see it together, aye?”
“Aye,” Robert agreed. There would be no changing Niall’s mind, and Robert both appreciated his friend’s loyalty and feared for him. But Niall’s decision was set, and there were no arguments left to be made, so Robert urged his steed into a gallop to which his men matched the pace.
They rode relentlessly through the remains of the day, over hard terrain, under the baking sun, and into the early evening hours. When he finally spotted Eglinton Castle in the distance, he ordered the party to halt and turned to Niall. “I’ll venture up alone,” he announced, determined to protect Niall should the other Scottish nobility greet them with swords and wish to fight, despite Lady Moray’s sending word. Many saw them as traitors, thanks to his father’s orders to continue obeying Edward even when the Scottish nobility started to rebel against his rule, and Robert was not convinced Lady Moray’s words would have much effect on those who distrusted him.
“The devil ye will,” Niall replied, his tone hard. “I’m nae going to linger back here with the men and let ye get all the glory. I’ll go with ye, thank ye. All those who dared to call us traitors will ken the part I played in striking against de Burgh and, therefore, the English king.”
Robert opened his mouth to argue and then promptly shut it. It would do no good. “Ye’re as stubborn as a goat,” he grumbled instead. “And I do nae have time to mince words with ye. Come along.”
Niall chuckled as they moved their horses down the path that wound up to the castle gates. As they rode, Niall said, “It’s heartening to see that ye have finally learned I’m the stronger of the two of us.”
“If ye think I’d ever believe that,” Robert teased, “ye must have hit yer head.”
“Name yerself,” a guard bellowed, interrupting their banter as they approached the gate.
“Robert the Bruce.”
“Laird Niall Campbell,” Niall added.
“The turncoat arrives,” the guard hissed.
It was as Robert had expected. He whipped his sword up to the man’s throat. “I’m nae a turncoat. My family did nae support Balliol, but that does nae mean I will nae fight for Scotland against Edward.”
“Come along, then,” the guard relented in a begrudging tone. “The others will decide if ye should keep yer head.”
“Everyone always wants my head,” Robert said light-heartedly, “yet it still sits upon my shoulders.”
Niall chuckled, and the guard glared at the two of them. He guided them up the stone steps, past more guards, and into the torchlit castle. Silence blanketed much of the estate at such a late hour, but muffled voices drifted from down a dark corridor. A flicker of light flamed at the end. The guard stopped and motioned toward it. “The leaders of the rebellion are in the great hall discussing strategy.”
Robert nodded, and he and Niall fell into step behind the guard once more. As they made their way down the corridor, the voices coming from the great hall grew louder and more distinct.
“I’m nae going to risk my life to put Bruce on the throne!” someone bellowed.
Robert flinched, knowing they were referring to his father.
The guard who was with them snickered, and Robert glared the man into silence.
“Bruce is the rightful claimant,” came another voice.
“Bah! Bruce swore fealty to Edward as overlord of Scotland!”
“Ye ken he did that to avoid swearing allegiance to Balliol!” someone else shouted.
“Where is he, then?” the other man thundered. “Balliol has abdicated, and Bruce, the elder, does nae return to Scotland to help us stop Edward. What does he do instead? He sits in his lavish English estate! He has no backbone to rebel! Let us look to John Comyn to lead us in Balliol’s absence. He has managed to escape the imprisonment that befell many in his family.”
Their words were like harsh blows to Robert’s chest. John “the Red” Comyn came from one of the most powerful families in Scotland—Robert’s being the other—and that was the heart of the conflict between his family and the Comyns. The Comyns wanted all the power, including the throne, but not for the good of Scotland—for greed. Comyn cared for the rebellion only insomuch as he wished to protect his vast estates and current power. He did not truly care for the people and their freedom.
Robert gritted his teeth. He would have to fight beside a man who wanted to destroy him in order to save the land he loved. He shoved the guard out of the way, but a hand came to his arm. He turned to find Niall staring at him. “I’ll nae bend the knee to a Comyn,” Niall said. “Ye ken as well as I do that they will do all they can to gain the throne if there is nae any hope to return Balliol to it.”
Robert nodded. “We will fight for Scotland.” He didn’t say that he hoped his father would join them, though the hope lingered.
Suddenly, the door was flung open, and a giant of a man appeared at the threshold. He had to duck to exit the great hall. He strode toward Robert and Niall, his boots thudding against the floor. He stopped in front of them and smiled, a genuine expression that reached his clear blue eyes and made them crinkle at the edges. “I thought I heard a noise out here,” he said in a deep, friendly voice.
“Ye heard us despite all the commotion within?” Robert asked, exchanging a quick glance with Niall.
“Aye.” The Scot nodded as he scratched at his russet beard. “I’ve had to learn to listen carefully, especially when surrounded by chaos. ’Tis how I still survive though the English hunt me. I’m William Wallace of Elderslie.”
“We’ve heard of ye,” Niall replied. “I’m sorry to hear about yer wife.”
