Highlander's Redemption: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Book Two (25 page)

Once she had
gotten the King settled in his bed, fed him some soup, collected a few herbs
and roots along the outskirts of the camp, and tidied both her own and the
Bruce’s tent, there was nothing for Jossalyn to do but wait. And pace. And
worry.

The King had
fallen into an exhausted stupor after overextending himself to give the rousing
speech to his men. Except for eating, he mostly slept, leaving Jossalyn alone
with her thoughts and fears. Angus was like her silent shadow, pacing outside
the Bruce’s tent or trailing a few yards behind her when she moved around the
camp.

The midday sun
sloped toward the west, and the afternoon stretched into evening, then darkness
fell, and still there was no word or sign of what was happening on the
battlefield several miles away. Jossalyn tried to tell herself that no news
didn’t mean bad news, that Garrick and the men were well-prepared, and that
their new stealth tactics would serve them well. But despite the tight rein she
was keeping on her thoughts, every once in a while the image of Garrick lying
broken and bleeding somewhere in the forest flashed into her mind unbidden.

She tried to sleep
briefly. The camp was quiet, the few remaining women and the non-warrior men
who helped run the camp having hunkered down for the night to wait, but despite
her fatigue, she couldn’t quite manage to crawl into the cot she shared with
Garrick. His clean, masculine scent lingered on the pillow and in the blanket,
and it made her heart ache. So she lit a candle and went back to the Bruce’s
tent, plunking herself down in one of his upholstered chairs as the minutes
passed painfully slowly.

When the pre-dawn
sky finally began to lighten, Jossalyn roused herself from her torpor and the swirling
thoughts that consumed her and went out to one of the camp fires. She stoked
the fire, then hung a pot of water over the flames to boil. She wasn’t even
sure why she was doing it, but at least it was something to do. By the time she
was done, the sun was just inching its way over the horizon.

Suddenly her ears
pricked. Were those voices she was hearing in the distance? She shot a look at
Angus, who stood a few yards away. He was also alert all of a sudden, his eyes
fixed on the southwest end of the camp. A whistle went up from afar in that
direction, a noise that Jossalyn was becoming familiar with. Angus recognized
it as well.

“They return, lass!”
he said, his voice urgent, though he didn’t say how many of them were out there
or if they were victorious. For all they knew based on the whistle, only one of
the rebels had escaped and had made his way back to camp. Jossalyn’s heart
squeezed, dread and anticipation mingling sickeningly in her stomach.

Just then she
caught a glimpse of a flash of red through the tents and the outlying forest. Her
breath caught as she strained to see whose plaid she had spotted. Other colors
began to emerge from the forest behind the red one. More and more of the men
were materializing from the forest. But Jossalyn’s eyes were locked on the
splash of red at their front. She finally got a clear line of sight. Before she
knew what she was doing, she was sprinting as hard as she could toward the
red-clad figure.

Garrick was alive,
and running toward her too.

As soon as he
spotted her, he had broken into a run ahead of the others. As the distance
between them finally closed, she launched herself into his arms, laughing and crying
at the same time. He held her so tight that she didn’t think she would be able
to breath, but she didn’t care. He was saying something to her, words of love
and reassurance, but she didn’t register them. All she was aware of was his
arms squeezing her hard, his body enveloping hers.

She opened her
eyes, blinking past the tears, and noticed a smear of red on his neck a few
inches from her face. Suddenly realizing that he might be injured, she pulled
back and scanned him, worry creasing her brow.

“Are you hurt?” There
was dried blood on his neck and hands, and his shirt underneath the studded
leather vest he wore was dirty and blood-smeared as well.

“Nay, lass. Only
minor wounds.”

Angus arrived next
to them just then, huffing a little. “What news, Garrick?”

“We are
victorious!” he said loudly, which caused the men tromping back into the camp
around them to cheer noisily. Though they appeared tired and a bit bedraggled,
their spirits were high.

He turned his
attention back to Jossalyn. “I must get to the King and tell him of the
battle.”

She nodded and
turned back toward the Bruce’s tent, but he tugged her back to face him, his
voice serious. “We didn’t sustain very many losses, but there are several
wounded men who are being helped back to camp as we speak. They will be
arriving shortly.”

She swallowed but
gave him another nod, steeling herself. This would be her true test. She had
already proven herself to the Bruce and the camp of rebels with her healing
skills, but now she had to confirm for herself that she was able to be a
battlefield healer. In a few minutes, she wouldn’t just be seeing to one man’s
toothache or a case of indigestion. She would be responsible for overseeing and
tending to all those wounded in battle. She was nervous, but she realized that
she didn’t want to turn away and flee from such a task. She knew she could
help, and was honored to be able to lend her skills to aid these brave men.

Garrick took her
hand and they strode quickly toward the Bruce’s tent. Apparently the whistle
and the sound of the men filtering back into the camp had roused him, for he
had managed to prop himself up when they entered the tent.

Before the Bruce
could ask, Garrick said again, “We are victorious.”

The breath rushed
from the King in relief even as his eyes lit up with excitement. “What
happened?”

“Once we got
closer to the Comyn camp, we spread out to flank them. Though they were
preparing to move on us, we caught them by surprise. We were able to keep our
distance for much of the battle.”

“And that must
have allowed our archers to use their training in shooting from cover and in
obstructed conditions,” the Bruce said.

Garrick nodded,
his face showing traces of his pride. “Aye, the training paid off. We lost very
few of our men. We were able to take cover, and their archers were at a loss
for how to fire back through the forest. They haven’t let go of the English
style of fighting.”

“It worked,” the
Bruce said quietly, almost to himself. Turning his attention back to Garrick,
he said, “And what of the Comyns? Have they been adequately quelled?”

Garrick sobered
slightly. “They took a hit, but they fled when our victory was clear. I doubt
this is the last we will see of them. And Robert—a few other clan colors were
visible in their midst. Others may be joining the Comyns to oppose you and
stand with the English.”

The Bruce’s face
darkened. “Then we will have to show them once and for all that they cannot
crush this rebellion,” he said. He took a breath and schooled his dark
features. “But today we are victorious. We have proven ourselves and our
tactics yet again. Any man, English or Scottish, who dares attack our freedom,
can challenge us and see for himself what we are capable of!”

Garrick laughed, a
sound of relief and joy. Just then a distant shout went up, and Garrick jerked
his head around. “The wounded are arriving. I must see to the men.”

“And so must I,”
Jossalyn interjected.

The Bruce waved
them away, and they strode out of the tent together. Just as Garrick had said,
the wounded from the battle were arriving back at camp, being aided by their
fellow warriors. Some hobbled in, leaning on the shoulders of their comrades, while
others walked on their own but gripped broken arms or bleeding wounds.

“Bring those with
the most serious injuries over here,” Jossalyn shouted to the approaching men. “The
remaining can gather over there.” She turned to Angus and Garrick, who were
waiting for her word. “Boil as much water as you can. I’ll also need thread and
a needle, which should be held over a flame for a full minute. Someone fetch me
my satchel!”

She rolled up her
sleeves as a man with a serious gash on his calf was brought over to her. Just
before she became completely engrossed in her work, a thought flitted across
her mind. Not long ago she had been a scared girl under the control of her
cruel brother. Now she was a respected healer for the Scottish rebellion. She
was loved by and loved in return a good-hearted, brave, and passionate man, who
never tried to restrain her work or deny her skills. She had arrived into the
future that she could have only dreamed of a few months earlier.

She brought her
attention back to the man with the leg wound. She could contemplate her
blessings later. Right now, she was needed.

“Before we get to
the joyous events of the evening—”

Garrick felt
Jossalyn’s eyes on him, and he gave her a sideways glance, taking her hand in
his and giving it a little squeeze.

“—I have some
news, and a few things to discuss with you,” the Bruce finished.

Jossalyn began to
excuse herself, but the Bruce waved his hand to halt her. “Nay, stay, Lady
Jossalyn. This involves you as well. We’ll get this business taken care of,
then get on with the real reason you’re here.”

The two of them
stood before the Bruce in his tent. He had managed to walk under his own power from
his bed to a large chair that was pulled out in front of his desk. It was a
major accomplishment—yet another milestone in the King’s recovery. His progress
was slow, frustratingly so to the Bruce, but in the week since the battle,
Garrick had noticed that his color was returning. And though his body was still
weak, the Bruce’s mind had resumed its normal sharpness.

The Bruce withdrew
a folded piece of paper from the silk vest he wore. “I have had a missive from
your brother,” he began.

Garrick felt his
eyebrows raise. “Is all well? Lady Alwin and the child and—”

“Aye, aye, all is
well. In fact, Robert sends me news that felicitations are due to your cousin
Burke.”

“Felicitations? Of
what manner?” Jossalyn asked.

“Apparently he has
gotten married. It seemed that he beat you two to the punch!” the Bruce replied
with a mischievous smile.

“Married! I didn’t
even know Burke was looking for a wife!” Jossalyn turned to Garrick for
confirmation, her green eyes wide with surprise and joy.

“Nor did I,”
Garrick said, just as baffled as Jossalyn. A snippet of conversation with Burke
flitted back into his mind. His cousin had said that there had been someone
special once, but that he had lost his opportunity and didn’t believe to find such
happiness again. He hoped Burke had been wrong, that the opportunity had
perhaps re-presented itself and that he could indeed experience happiness in
marriage.

The Bruce’s tease
about his cousin beating them to wedded bliss finally registered through his
surprise at the news of Burke’s marriage. “And how much longer do you suppose
it will be before we join my cousin in married life?” Garrick said to the Bruce
with a raised eyebrow.

The Bruce roared
with laughter at Garrick’s thinly veiled impatience. When the King finally
caught his breath and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, he said, “Unfortunately,
you’ll have to wait a few minutes longer.” He cleared his throat, sobering
further. “Your brother also mentioned that the Comyns have been active near
Sinclair lands, trying to stir up trouble and recruit others to join their
resistance against me.”

Garrick’s mood
instantly darkened. Just as he had suspected, the Comyns wouldn’t go quietly. If
they had already been moving through the Highlands trying to gain support
against the Bruce and the rebellion, then the battle a week ago was only the
beginning. Now the Bruce would have to worry about not only Edward II and his
English army, but also the resistance of fellow Scotsmen who were allied with
the English.

The Bruce was
watching him closely. “Edward II’s role remains to be seen. Only time will tell
if he will choose to take up the mantle of Hammer of the Scots from his father.
But now we’ll need to devote ourselves to winning over our own countrymen,” he
said, seeming to read Garrick’s thoughts. “An uphill battle, to be sure.”

Garrick raised an
eyebrow. “And by ‘winning over’ you mean...”

The Bruce smiled
ruefully. “As you well know, Garrick, we are gaining more support by the day. Yet
if Laird Sinclair’s report is accurate, and I’m sure it is, our success is only
galvanizing those who oppose us. It isn’t just the Comyns anymore. The
MacDougalls and Argylls have sided with the Comyns, and the Southerlands and
Rosses have only given me a temporary truce. Like many others, they are merely
waiting to see who will emerge as the stronger force, and then ally themselves
with the victor.”

Garrick ran a hand
through his hair. “What do you propose?”

Knowing the Bruce,
he would likely have already hatched some stratagem to both hold off the
English and confront his Scottish opponents, either forcing them to join him or
be met with his guerrilla army of rebels.

“We will continue
to battle those who would oppose us within the country. This most recent battle
against the Comyns will give them and others much to think about before they
stand against us again,” the Bruce said, bringing his hand up to rub his
bearded chin. “But we must also secure the Borderlands, both against the
English and our Scottish enemies who would collude with them.”

“Isn’t James
Douglas already doing just that?” Garrick asked. Douglas was one of the Bruce’s
most trusted friends and allies. From what Garrick had heard, Douglas was currently
making his way through the Borderlands, razing English-held castles and
garrisons so that they couldn’t be recaptured and used against the Scottish
again.

The loss of
heavily fortified castles that could potentially be held by the Scottish rebels
was hard to swallow, but Garrick understood the Bruce’s motivations. Too often
in this war for independence, the Scots would capture a castle or town, only to
have the English recapture it, using their own structures against them.

The English
couldn’t hold their location without a large fortress or castle in which to
fortify themselves, but the Scottish rebels could. They were learning how to
dissolve into the forests, hide in the heather, and take cover in the
mountains. This was their home, after all. They would rebuild someday, once
their freedom was secure, but for now, the rebels had to use their knowledge of
the landscape, paired with the English army’s immobility and need for the protection
of a castle, against their enemies.

“Aye, Douglas is
making progress in the south,” the Bruce responded. “But he has only been
tasked with destroying those castles and fortresses that could be recaptured
and used against us. We need a holding of our own.”

This surprised
Garrick, as it represented a shift in the Bruce’s tactics. Again, the Bruce
seemed to anticipate his thoughts. “Douglas will continue on as before,” he
said, “but we will need a base from which to operate if we are to recapture and
destroy the more…impervious locations.”

Here the King’s
eyes flickered to Jossalyn, trying to gage her reaction, but her brow was
furrowed in confusion. Garrick tried to untangle the Bruce’s implied meaning. Then
it dawned on him.

“You mean to
destroy Dunbraes, and you need a base of operations nearby from which to attack
it.”

“Aye.”

Jossalyn’s eyes
widened slightly. Her lips parted as she tried to find words, but the only
sound was a gust of breath as she exhaled. The Bruce remained silent, watching
her closely.

Finally, Jossalyn
was able to speak, though her words came haltingly. “I-I don’t know what to
say. You are going to raze Dunbraes?”

“Aye, lass,” the
Bruce said quietly. “It has been held by the English for years, and has never
fallen to Scottish attacks. It served Longshanks well as a holding and a launch-point
for the English army. Strategically, we must capture it if we hope to stem the
flow of English soldiers into the country. And it would be a moral victory for
the rebellion as well.”

The Bruce paused
for a moment, seeming to choose his words carefully before going on. “Taking
Dunbraes would also give us the opportunity to deal with your brother. He
appears to have been forced to turn back in his search for you and has returned
to the Borderlands. My scouts and messengers got word that there is no longer
English movement in southwest Scotland, where you said he was hunting you. Raef
Warren has brought much death and suffering to Scotland. We cannot simply
ignore him. Though he has evaded us several times over the years, we
will
end this.”

Jossalyn nodded
absently, her eyes drifting to the floor. Garrick watched as a barrage of
emotions played out on her face. He saw her shame for her brother’s actions,
her shock at the thought of her former home being destroyed, and also fear and
sadness, likely for the people of the castle and village whom she had come to
know and care for.

 “We wish only to
defeat your brother and the English army, lass,” the Bruce went on. “Our war is
not against villagers and farmers. But this is warfare.”

She nodded again,
blinking back the tears that had sprung into her eyes. The Bruce’s words seemed
to reassure her slightly. “I wish your campaign well,” she said simply.

“Then you do not
wish to make a case for your brother?” the Bruce asked carefully.

She didn’t
hesitate. “No, I do not. He has brought much suffering into this world. I have
managed to survive him, but I know all too well that others have not been so
fortunate. He has earned his own fate.”

As she spoke,
Garrick took her hand again. He stood in awe of her strength and fortitude. She
had been through so much, and yet she still carried herself with grace and
integrity.

“Very well, then. I
appreciate your honesty, lass, and I give you my word to do right by the people
of Dunbraes,” the Bruce said, a light of respect in his eyes.

“Thank you,
sire—Robert.”

The Bruce turned
back to Garrick. “The last piece of news from Laird Sinclair is regarding your
younger brother. Apparently he has been helping your uncle run his keep these
past few years?”

“Aye. My uncle
William has been ailing, and his son is but fifteen and unready to take over
for his father. Daniel has been helping out in the training of young Will to
prepare him to be a Laird.”

“How convenient,”
the Bruce said, almost to himself.

“Dare I ask what
plan you are hatching now?” Garrick said wryly.

The fire that the
Bruce got in his eyes whenever he was strategizing flamed now. “You remember
Loch Doon, don’t you?”

“Aye, of course.” When
the Bruce and his men had been forced to flee the previous year, first to the
western islands and then to Ireland, they had stopped for refuge at Loch Doon Castle
for a brief time. It was the Bruce’s family holding. In fact, the Bruce had
built the enormous eleven-sided curtain wall by hand with his father. Amazingly,
they had build the entire holding on a small island in the middle of the loch. When
Garrick had first seen it, he had been stunned by its beauty, then awed by its
strategic location. It would be nearly impossible to siege, or even approach
unseen. It was exactly the kind of castle that the Bruce would build and reside
in.

“Then you’ll
remember that it is in the western Lowlands, near the border, and also near
Dunbraes.”

The Bruce’s plan
began unfolding in Garrick’s mind. “So you hope to take Loch Doon Castle and
use it as the base from which to attack Dunbraes.”

“Exactly. Though Loch
Doon is mine by birthright, it is currently being held by Laird Gilbert
Kennedy. I entrusted the castle to him when I began my campaign, but he was set
upon by the English. He allied himself with them rather than have the castle
destroyed in a siege, or so he claims.”

“You don’t believe
him?”

“I’m not sure what
to make of the man. Now that we’ve defeated the English three times in the last
year, he has sent me a missive proclaiming his unerring loyalty to me despite
his formal alliance with the English. I trust him about as far as I can throw
him,” the Bruce said, raising an eyebrow sardonically. “But I want Loch Doon
back under my control—and in one piece.”

“So you won’t raze
it like the other Borderland castles,” Garrick finished.

Jossalyn tapped
her index finger against her lips as she, too, pieced together the Bruce’s
plan. “But how do you expect to wrest it from this Gilbert Kennedy and hold it
while you’re here?”

The Bruce smiled a
little. “That is where the third Sinclair brother comes in,” he said, clearly
pleased with himself.

“You’re sending
Daniel?” Garrick realized that after the words were out, his shock sounded more
like disapproval. He tried to temper his tone somewhat as he went on. “He’s
certainly more than capable of running a castle. He surpassed me in our
training to potentially become Laird, and he has handed down that training to
our cousin Will. I suppose I’m just surprised that you would select him above
all others, Robert.”

“The Sinclairs
have stood with me from the beginning, despite the hardships they have endured
because of it.” Though he didn’t name him, the Bruce was referring again to
Raef Warren and the bloody and costly battle at Roslin he had brought to
Sinclair lands.

“Both you and
Laird Sinclair have done more than almost anyone else to help the cause. You
have both risked your lives and done much for the rebellion, and for that I am
grateful. I figured that the youngest Sinclair brother should have an
opportunity to prove himself.” The Bruce quirked a smile, but then grew serious
once more.

“In truth, I
consider it a reward for your family’s loyal service. There is no one I can
think of whom I trust more with my ancestral holding at Loch Doon than a
Sinclair.”

Garrick’s chest swelled
with pride at the Bruce’s words, and at the honor that was being bestowed on
his younger brother. He could think of no one better for the job of holding the
castle against the English, keeping it running smoothly, and setting the stage
for a siege against Dunbraes than Daniel.

“Oh, and there is
one other reason I’m sending your brother,” the Bruce said, a twinkle of
mischief in his dark eyes. “Laird Sinclair’s missive was in answer to my
question regarding whether or not your younger brother is married.”