Insurrection (63 page)

Late in October, when the men were busy in the fields, gathering the last crops and slaughtering excess livestock, he had visited Affraig to offer an end to the exile his father had imposed upon her. But the old woman had declined, choosing to remain in the wild rather than return to the village.

Gradually, as the weeks went by, others drifted to Robert’s company. It was hard work and sometimes he had to swallow his pride, but he soon discovered that gaining a man’s trust was a matter of time and patience. When his vassals saw he intended to stay and bolster their defences more began to support him willingly. As his retinue grew, so did his reputation. He found he had a natural gift for diplomacy, learned at the feet of his grandfather. A lion when provoked, a lamb when necessary, the old lord had been both feared and admired by his subjects, qualities Robert now saw were essential for leadership of a people. His father had been a rigid master who had treated his men more as servants than subjects. Robert’s determination and his willingness to listen soon won him the respect of his vassals. It was, he knew, the first step on the path to the throne.

In Irvine, when he had made his decision to lay claim to the kingship of Scotland, Robert understood the enormity, perhaps even impossibility of the task before him. He had blood on his side and his grandfather’s claim on record, but that was all. Most of the men of the realm did not trust him, many still openly resented him. The Scots led by Wallace were fighting for the return of John Balliol, not the election of a new king, and the Stone of Destiny was held in Westminster. In order even to announce his decision, he needed much greater support. To gain that he must prove himself; must do what Wallace and the others were doing and win the hearts of his people by winning back their lost lands. And, as the storms of autumn gave way to an iron-cold winter, this was what he set out to do.

With a force of more than fifty knights and two hundred foot soldiers, Robert moved north through Carrick into Ayrshire. Henry Percy had gone south to England, escorting the prisoners taken at Irvine, leaving the port town of Ayr defended by a small garrison. One frozen dawn in late November, Robert and his men stormed the town, overrunning Percy’s garrison and breaking their way into the English barracks. Six of Percy’s men died in the attack and the rest escaped using a boat moored on the River Ayr, but with the assault English domination in Ayr was at an end. It was here, in the liberated town, much to the excitement and relief of its people, that Robert made his new base. This meant he could keep his family safe down the coast at Turnberry while he concentrated on leading raiding parties to Irvine and other settlements to rout the rest of Percy’s soldiers.

Some weeks later, Robert learned the price of his uprising. Henry Percy may have been distracted in England, but Clifford had remained in Galloway and at once turned his attention to the Bruce lands of Annandale, where he burned ten villages and terrorised the people in retaliation. Lochmaben Castle, still garrisoned by vassals of Robert’s father, had held out, but terrible damage was done to the outlying settlements, damage that would take seasons to repair. For Robert it had been a hard blow. Annandale might belong to his father, but the place was his home and the thought of it in flames was devastating.

The assault had, however, one unlooked-for advantage. That a prominent English commander had attacked Bruce lands in Scotland proved to many who doubted Robert that his defection was genuine. It made him an enemy of the English – a fact the leaders of the rebellion hadn’t failed to notice. Early in the spring of 1298 messengers came, asking Robert to attend a great council of men in the heart of Selkirk Forest, the cradle of insurrection.

The Forest was verdant with new growth as Robert and his company rode through the trees. Pines, twice as broad as a man, soared up into tiers of cloud-like branches. The ground was layered with needles and cones that crackled underfoot. People said the tangled fastness of Selkirk was but a remnant of an ancient forest that once covered the kingdom. Even so, it was still vast and unknowable, full of shadows and glades. It was the perfect base for an army that wanted to stay hidden and Robert was certain, if he hadn’t been told what markers to look for, he and his men would have been lost within a day.

‘There’s another one,’ said Edward, shifting in his saddle and pointing to a gnarled trunk on which was painted a white circle with a cross inside. ‘We must be getting closer. That’s the fourth we’ve seen this morning.’

Robert’s gaze moved past the daubed trunk to where the trees opened out into a clearing. He could hear the rush of water. ‘Tell the others,’ he said, turning to Christopher Seton who rode close behind, ‘we’ll take a rest, then push on through the afternoon. I want to reach the camp before nightfall.’

The squire nodded, but as he steered his horse away Robert sensed his apprehension. He understood why. The young man, born and raised in Yorkshire, was about to enter the base of an army whose intent it was to rid their lands of the English for good. Robert had assured the squire that he was under his protection, but in truth he couldn’t guarantee Christopher’s safety, or anyone else’s. As the squire relayed the orders to the rest of the company, fanned out among the trees, Robert urged his palfrey into the clearing. There was a broad stream on the far side of the glade, running swift over smooth, brown stones. The banks were shallow enough to let the horses drink.

Robert dismounted as the others threaded their way through the trees. With the forty knights and squires he had raised from Carrick were sixty-seven men under the commands of Mar and Atholl. Christian had accompanied Gartnait and John’s wife rode with him, along with their sixteen-year-old son, David, who was the mirror of his father. Saddle-stiff and weary, the knights pulled wine skins and salted meat from packs as the squires saw to the horses.

Taking the offered hand of one of Robert’s knights, Katherine slid down from her mare. Offering the young man a beguiling smile, she brushed the dust from her skirts, while Judith lifted Marjorie out of her seat. Motioning for one of the servants to take her horse to the river, Katherine stretched. ‘Bring me something to eat,’ she called to Judith, ‘after you’ve fed Marjorie.’

The girl had become as much her maid as Marjorie’s wet nurse these past months, Robert had noticed. The other women, Christian and John’s wife, who had handmaids of their own, kept their distance from the two. Christian, especially, was cool towards Katherine. Whatever the reason, Robert had neither the time nor desire to root it out. He was tired of politics and the games being played. These men and women all had their own designs, even as they followed him in his. Gartnait, he knew, wasn’t fully behind his decision to go for the throne, still advising him to reach a truce with the English. John of Atholl supported him wholeheartedly, but was wary of the Setons who had remained at Robert’s side since leaving Irvine. For their part, Alexander and Christopher guarded their place as his trusted commanders zealously. Only Edward seemed able to stand comfortably between them all.

Moving off through the trees, Robert went to stretch his legs alone. The Forest, close around them for days, was becoming claustrophobic and the tensions in his company had increased the deeper in they went. It wasn’t just Christopher who was uneasy. John and Alexander had both been troubled by the summons, which had borne the seal of William Wallace, wondering why, after so many months without contact, the rebel wanted Robert to attend the council. It was a risk, certainly. He had no idea what reception he might get. But there were constant rumours of English retaliation; of a great army being assembled for a fresh invasion, and Robert needed to know what was coming.

A little way downriver, he crouched on the bank. As he bent over the water, his reflection swirled beneath him. He hadn’t shaved for days and a beard had grown dark and full around his jaw. His eyes were shadowed beneath an unruly fringe of hair. Perhaps he had been wrong to come here? Perhaps it showed weakness: his willingness to accept the summons of a rebel? Robert dipped his hands into the cold water and his image disappeared. Cupping his palms, he splashed his face. As the water ran down his cheeks, another image rippled into being. A woman stood behind him, her body shifting in the currents. He rose quickly to see Katherine standing there. The rush of the river had concealed her footsteps.

She smiled. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’ As he wiped his face with his hands, she stepped towards him. ‘Here, let me.’ Gathering up one of her sleeves, she dabbed at his brow.

The wine-red gown had long, fluted sleeves. She had been wearing it when she met him at Turnberry’s gates five days ago. Girdled with a belt of silver rings it would have been fit for a countess, had the bodice not been cut so tightly across her chest. Robert caught Katherine’s wrist, suddenly annoyed. ‘Why do you wear this?’

Her eyes widened at his tone. ‘Do you not like it?’

‘I don’t like the way my men look at you.’

Katherine laughed and cradled his cheek with her hand. ‘Then I shall not wear it again.’

Robert slipped his hand from around her wrist to thread his icy fingers through hers. ‘Keep the gown.’ He exhaled. ‘I’m just tired.’ Away through the trees he could hear his men talking. His head was pounding, the water drying cold on his cheeks.

She slid her hands around his neck and pressed herself against him. ‘I am yours alone, my love.’

‘Katherine,’ he murmured warningly.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘They cannot see us.’ She looked back at him coquettishly, rising on to her toes until her mouth was almost touching his. ‘You’re like a wounded boar,’ she said, her voice low, teasing. ‘So irritable.’ She kissed his lips and grinned. ‘And you need a shave.’

Robert closed his mouth over hers, pushing her up against the trunk of a tree. Her hands grasped his neck as she kissed him back fiercely.

At the sound of a man clearing his throat, Robert pulled away to see Alexander approaching.

Katherine tossed her hair over her shoulder. ‘Sir Alexander! How fortunate Robert is to have someone watching his back.’ She laughed. The sound was brittle. ‘Indeed, it seems everywhere he goes you are there. Watching.’

‘The Forest has many dangers,’ responded Alexander, looking her in the eye.

Katherine was the first to look away. ‘I will see to your daughter, Robert.’ Hitching her skirts, she stepped through the long grass.

Alexander waited until she had gone. ‘We should talk.’

Robert let out a rough breath. ‘I’ve told you. She is not your concern.’

‘I meant about the camp. About what we’re walking into.’ Alexander paused. ‘But, in truth, my friend, she is part of that discussion. You haven’t yet announced your intention to anyone outside our circle, which I feel is wise, but there will come a time when you must stand before the men of the realm and make your claim. How can you expect the magnates to take your bid seriously when you do not?’

‘You do not think I take it seriously? With all I have done these past months, all you have helped me do? I’m risking my life and the lives of my family to make my claim!’

‘Will Katherine be your wife? Your queen?’

Robert turned away. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then don’t take a maid as your consort.’ Alexander moved round, forcing Robert to look at him. ‘The others do not speak to you of it, but they all see how she has elevated herself far beyond what she should. She has clawed her way up from a maid to a lady and you have let her.’

Robert went to the river’s edge and stared into the green haze of trees on the other side. On the road to Douglasdale, Katherine had become a distraction; a vessel into which he had poured his doubts. Each morning he had woken, filling up with the day’s concerns. Each night, he had released his frustrations into her. He had always known, since Isobel’s passing, that one day he would have to seek another bride, a bride of high standing who could provide him with a son. He had known this, but had kept on pushing it from his mind, despite the fact that the issue had never been more pressing. He had told himself he’d had no time; that there were more important things to concern himself with. This was true, but it wasn’t the real reason for his inaction. The reason he hadn’t given any thought to finding a wife was that Katherine wasn’t just a distraction any more. She had become one of the only constants in his fast-changing life. She rarely asked him for anything and her only desire, when with him, was to please him. ‘I need her, Alexander,’ he said quietly. ‘Right now, I need her.’

‘I understand you want a woman to warm your bed,’ replied Alexander, moving in behind him. ‘I understand that as well as any man. But there are other things to consider here. Do you not see how it affronts Earl Gartnait? Or Earl John’s wife? Lady Isobel was their sister. You have made her servant the mother of her child. Robert, she wears Isobel’s clothes. They are your supporters. We need them.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘I wonder in part if Gartnait’s reluctance to support your bid fully is down to Katherine.’

As Robert shook his head and went to challenge him, his eyes caught movement on the other side of the river. A figure was rising from the undergrowth, dressed all in green, a bow primed in his hands. Robert lunged at Alexander, forcing him down. The two of them hit the ground hard as an arrow thumped into a tree behind.

Alexander struggled to fight Robert off, then went still as a voice rang out.

‘That shot was a warning. The next will be fatal unless you state your business.’ The man had fixed another arrow in his bow.