Rivals for the Crown (8 page)

Almost at the end of October, on a rainy
grey
day, Sarah burst into the kitchen, where Rachel and their mother were preparing the evening meal.

"I've just heard some news from England," Sarah said. "The Jews, the ones who stayed behind in London, when we left... nothing has happened to most of them. Some were forced out, like we were, but some were left alone. But now.. .they were collected, all of them, and forced out of London, onto ships that sailed from the Cinque Ports. Everything they left behind has been taken. Some refused to leave." She lowered her voice. "And they died for it. We were right to leave last summer. And there's worse news. A letter has been sent to King Edward in England, asking him to decide who should rule Scotland."

Mama looked up, then quickly down, but Rachel had seen the flash of fear in her eyes. Rachel put the knife down.

"Some say the Bruces sent the letter," Sarah said, hurrying on breathlessly. "But others are saying it was a bishop who did it to keep Scotland from falling into war over the throne."

Mama put a hand to her breast. "Tell me King Edward is not coming here."

"I've heard that he's staying in England, at least for now.

Mama slowly rose to her feet. "England's not distant enough, but at least he is not here. I'll go and tell your father." At the doorway she stopped and turned to look at Sarah. "Who told you all this?"

Sarah blushed. "That merchant. His name is..." She waved her hand airily, and Rachel knew she was lying. "Edgar Keith, I think it is. Something like that."

"Edgar Keith," Mama said. "The one who's been here for three days?"

Sarah nodded. "Yes."

"Ah," Mama said and left them.

"Do you think it's true?" Rachel asked Sarah when they were alone.

"Of course it's true! Edgar wouldn't lie to me!"

"I mean," Rachel said, trying to keep the edge out of her tone, "was he told the truth? King Edward having a say in Scotland? This cannot be good for us."

"It will be fine, Rachel. Don't worry yourself so much."

Rachel tried, but as the day passed, filled with rain and travelers seeking shelter from it, the news was confirmed. Edward of England would help decide who would rule Scotland. Rachel

worked long hours, falling into her bed at night, too weary to talk with Sarah. Which was just as well, for all of them knew but none said the obvious that should Edward's rule extend to Berwick, their livelihood—and perhaps even their lives—would again be in jeopardy.

How strange, she thought, that her dear friend Isabel would be hearing the same news in England as one of the English queen's ladies. Would she think of Rachel when she heard it? But of course not. Isabel did not know where they'd gone, was probably imagining her living somewhere on the Continent. Rachel sighed. London might as well be on the far side of the world. Would that it were, for then the hand of Edward of England might not reach her family. How strange that Isabel now saw Edward daily and Rachel not at all.

Rory MacGannon wiped the rain out of his face and shifted his weight. He made no
pretence
at patience while he waited before the gate at Stirling castle, nor did his cousin Kieran MacDonald, who walked his horse back and forth.

"MacGannon, is it?" the guard asked for the third time.

"Aye. Rory MacGannon. Here to see Liam Crawford."

"MacGannon." The guard's eyebrows lifted. He slammed the small window in the gate.

"I should have said MacDonald," Rory told his cousin Kieran. "Ye MacDonalds are welcome here. We'd be sitting in front of a fire right now instead of standing in the rain wondering if we'll be sent away in the dark."

"Aye," Kieran said. "It's a better name. My father and your mother would agree, not doubt," Kieran added with a laugh. Ye should let me do all the talking."

Rory snorted. But perhaps Kieran was right. He half-expected not to be allowed to enter at all. He'd been to Stirling several times before, with his parents, but he'd never come on his own. And Kieran, younger by two years than Rory, had never been on a journey of any length without his father or
Rory
's.

"What will we do if they dinna let us in?" Kieran asked.

"We'll find somewhere dry to sleep, and curse them over a cup of ale."

"Which will not be necessary," said a voice from the dark.

Rory's worry left him in an instant. His uncle Liam's voice was followed by the man himself as the guard pushed open the small door in the gate. Liam Crawford grinned at Rory and Kieran, then looked behind them.

"Ye'11 be sleeping in a dry and warm bed with a bellyful of good wine. How many d'ye have with ye?"

"Just the two of us," Rory answered. "And horses."

"Aye. I'll send word to get some hot food ready for ye. Give us a moment to get the larger gate open," Liam said and ducked back inside.

As Rory backed his horse away from the gatehouse, he could hear Liam's commanding voice, then a deeper voice answering. At last the gate swung wide, and Liam gestured them through.

The gate was closed by a team of armed men, which surprised Rory. He'd imagined that some of Stirling's guards had deserted in the uncertain times, that perhaps the castle was undermanned. But a quick glance around, even in the dim light of the torches in the wall niches, made him realize that the opposite was the case. Stirling Castle, and the village that shared the crest of the mount, was alive with soldiers. Some wore the royal garb, obviously still loyal to the crown, whoever held it, but the rest were a mix of Highlanders wearing the clothing traditional to their clan, Border men who dressed in their notable leather
armour
, and, from their accents, men from the south and the southwest. Rory and Kieran dismounted, leading their horses up the pathway slowly, for the rain made the stones slick.

"Why the delay?" Rory asked Liam.

"Ye're lucky it wasna much longer. No one here can decide who's in charge."

"I thought perhaps the MacGannon name caused a problem."

Liam threw him a sharp glance. "It did."

"Aye, everyone seems to have heard of my da."

"They have. And yers as well," Liam said to Kieran. "Notorious, the both of them."

Rory nodded. All of Scotland knew of his father and his uncle Davey, his mother's brother. It was Davey's abduction by Norsemen and his being sold into slavery that people talked of. His parents, Margaret and Gannon, had found Davey after years of searching in Jutland, in Denmark, owned by a Danish miller who had been reluctant to release him. Gold—and the threat of violence —convinced him to let Davey go.

But Gannon was not remembered for his courage and brilliant military tactics in defeating the Norsemen, nor for his persistence in his search for Davey, but for being accused of murder and being banished from King Alexander's court, where for years he had been such a
favourite
. Few remembered the injustice of that accusation, for Lachlan Ross had not been murdered but killed in a fight that Lachlan had instigated with Gannon. Gannon's lack of remorse and his fierce refusal to apologize for killing the king's cousin had led to his banishment. And fewer remembered why Gannon had come to court to confront Lachlan: the brutal battering Lachlan had given Nell that had almost killed her. But Nell, and Liam, who had loved Nell even then, remembered, and that was enough for Gannon.

"But it wasn't yer da's name this time, Rory. It was yers."

"Mine?"

"Aye. What the hell is this I hear about ye, lad? A blood feud? They're calling for yer death."

"I told ye he would have heard," Kieran said. "Everyone has."

Two men approached them on the narrow pathway, looking intently at Rory. "MacGannon," one said to the other. As they came abreast, the man bumped Rory's shoulder hard, but kept walking. Rory looked after them.

"Do ye ken them?" Liam asked.

"No."

Liam swore. "We'll talk on it, but not here. Delay, that's what I was saying. There's enough confusion here to have made ye wait no matter who ye are. We have no queen, no king. Every decision, no matter how small, seems to need half a day and twenty men to discuss it. Fortunately one of the lads kent I was yer uncle and came to get me, otherwise we'd be waiting for a meeting of the Guardians."

"So obviously ye've heard about the Maid's death?"

"Aye, and sent word to yer parents. Ye no doubt passed my messenger going west on yer way east. Let's get ye inside."

Rory nodded his agreement and followed Liam through the next gatehouse and into Stirling's inner ward. The rain increased again. There would not be a spot on him that wasn't wet through, Rory thought, but at least they'd been given entry, and eventually they'd be dry. They left their horses in the stables with a groom, then followed Liam across the courtyard, up a flight of stairs, and through a tall wooden door. Once inside, they pulled the hoods from their heads. Walls built of stone were replacing the wooden ones, but that was hardly surprising. Rory had never been to Stirling without seeing some part of it under construction. The latest work was only partly finished and looked as though it had been stopped abruptly.

"Aye," Liam said, following their gaze. "Who kens when this will all be done now? Or if the new king will ever come here." He nodded to the guards, who looked at Rory and Kieran without expression. Liam led them around a corner and up another flight of stairs. "I dinna ken if Stirling will remain. I've heard it's to be abandoned and heard it's to be enlarged."

"But it's the gateway to the Highlands," Rory said. "It's too important to be left unmanned."

"Ye ken that and I ken that, but do John Balliol or Robert Bruce?"

"So ye think it'll be one of them?" Kieran asked.

"Who else?" Liam answered. "No one is going to let one of the bastards, royal bastards though they are, become king. And who

else has put in a claim? Erik of Norway? D'ye think the Scots will go under the yoke of Norway after all we did to free ourselves from the Norsemen, and that only twenty-some years ago? The whole of Scotland lived in fear that summer. There's many a village or family that no longer exists, but I hardly need tell the two of ye that, do I? Think it's been forgotten? Erik's too weak to push his claim, and that's good for all of us."

"What of Edward of England's claim?" Rory asked.

Liam put a finger to his lips. They climbed the next set of stairs in silence.

"Here we are," Liam said, throwing open a door and ushering them inside a large, well-appointed room, comfortably furnished with chairs and a box bed in the corner. A table stood against the far wall with bottles of wine and ale.

"We can talk here, but quietly. And we willna say anything of importance outside this room, aye? I'm sorry, lads, but things are unsettled, and everyone talks. Edward of England's claim—that's the most interesting one of them all, isn't it? Edward's not asking for the throne outright. He's saying he already is Scotland's sovereign overlord. It's an old argument, but it's a sham."

"I dinna understand that one at all," Kieran said.

"Aye, well," Liam answered, "ye ken that our King Alexander married King Edward's sister?"

"Aye."

"After that, Alexander went to England and paid homage to Edward. Alexander made it clear, then and later, both in his words and writings, that the homage he paid was only for his English lands, that he recognized Edward as overlord of those properties, but not of Scotland. He affirmed that he was still Scotland's king and that Scotland was its own sovereign land. Of course, if the wee queen had lived it would have been a moot point, wouldn't it? Edward's son would have been married to the queen of Scotland, and when their children inherited, the thrones would have been united. But the Maid has died and that plan is gone."

"What d'ye think Edward will do?" Kieran asked.

"The leopard of the south? D'ye think Edward will pass up a chance to choose who will rule us? Not likely. Food will be here soon. Get those wet clothes off and get yerself warm. Yer aunt Nell is not here, or she would have been fussing over ye already."

"Nell's not here?" Rory asked, pulling off his boots. Fine leather and well made, but his feet were still glad to feel the warm
woollen
rug underfoot. "Where is she?"

The light from the fire illuminated Liam's copper hair and his face, letting Rory see the shadows in Liam's eyes. His uncle was worried.

"I sent her and our lasses down to Ayrshire when the word came that the Maid had died. I'm weary of my wife being in danger because the throne of Scotland is unsettled again."

He strode across, grabbing a bottle of wine and pouring three cups, then handing two to Rory and Kieran. "The Comyns were at her already, wanting her to stay, pulling at her for their own ambitions, and the Balliols were sending her messages. I wanted her out of the fray, at least until we ken who will be on the throne. Or whether there will be war over this. Ye'11 notice most of the women are gone from Stirling."

Rory and Kieran exchanged a glance while Liam crossed the room again, throwing up the lid of a chest that lay before the window, and pulling two
woollen
shirts from its depths.