Read The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) Online
Authors: Monica McCarty
The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) (20 page)
She shrugged. “Oh well. I’m sure you will think of something.”
He grinned. “I’m sure I will.” He slid his arm around her waist and drew her to him. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”
She nodded.
That was all he needed. He covered her mouth with a groan and pulled her deeper into his arms. He kissed her like a man who’d just found his life’s reward. Like a man who would love her for the rest of his life. With every stroke of his tongue, with every touch and caress, he showed her exactly how much she meant to him. And a very few minutes later, when he’d divested them both of their clothing and carried her to bed, he showed her the perfection that would be theirs for a lifetime.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Sir Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, and his rival James “the Black” Douglas have gone down in history as Robert the Bruce’s two most vaunted and trusted commanders. Randolph is thought to have been a nephew of the king’s, but the exact genealogy is not known. I went with what seems to be the favored ancestry of Randolph’s mother, possibly named Isabel, being the daughter of Bruce’s father, Niall’s, second wife, whom Niall marries after Marjorie, Countess of Carrick—Bruce’s mother—dies. In other words, Randolph is the son of Bruce’s mother’s half sister.
Although the taking of Edinburgh Castle in 1314 (also featured in
The Rock
) is undoubtedly Randolph’s most famous feat, he has a long and illustrious career in his uncle’s service, fighting along his side during the Wars of Independence—reputedly leading one of the divisions at the seminal Battle of Bannockburn (which features in
The Ghost,
the next book in the series,)—and serving the king in the important years that followed, culminating in the signing of the Declaration of Arbroath in 1320, where Randolph’s signature appears prominently. Bruce also named him as regent to the young heir to the throne, David, a position that Randolph serves after the death of Bruce in 1329, for three years until his own death in 1332.
Randolph is rewarded well for his loyalty. In addition to the earldom of Moray, he is given the old Bruce lordship of Annandale, the lordship of Man, and the lordship of Badenoch to go along with his lands in Nithsdale, where he was born, and Lochaber.
Notwithstanding all his accomplishments and the faithful years of service to his uncle, the accounts of Randolph always mention the one exception: the early years of the war where he briefly turns to fight with the English. I imagine it must have dogged him and couldn’t resist using it in my story.
Randolph is reputedly taken prisoner by the English after the disastrous defeat at the Battle of Methven in 1306. I have it a little later in
The Hawk,
in February 1307, when Bruce’s men are trying to avoid the English navy. Famously, Randolph is said to have explained his change of allegiance by saying that “the King made war like a brigand instead of fighting a pitched battle as a gentleman should.” (Ronald McNair Scott,
Robert the Bruce: King of Scots
, Barnes & Noble Books, New York, 1993, pg. 111.) Although the words definitely have the feel of a later attributor, they sum up the overriding conflict in the Highland Guard series between the old “chivalric” fighting and my “pirate” warfare perfectly. While in England, Randolph was said to have been under the keeping of our old friend Sir Adam Gordon (
The Recruit
and
The Ghost
), and when he is captured yet again two years later—this time by the Scots—who do you think is in command? Why who else but Douglas! Irony, that.
Little is known about Randolph’s wife, Isabel Stewart, the only daughter of John Stewart of Bonkyll, the patriot hero who dies fighting alongside Wallace at Falkirk, and Margaret Bonkyll. As is common with many of the people I write about, there are various spellings for the name: de Bonkyl, Boucle, Buncle, Bunkle and Bonkill. Isabel and Randolph have at least two sons, Thomas and John, but it is one of their daughters, Agnes, known as Black Agnes, Countess of Dunbar, who will become famous for her heroic defense of Dunbar Castle against an English siege in 1338.
In previous mentions of Randolph throughout the series, I used a version of his arms that I found from a number of sources (including the plaque dedicated to him on Edinburgh Castle): “Or, three cushions within a double tressure flory counter-flory Gules,” that is red and gold. But interestingly, for the Bannockburn Live 700th anniversary celebration, the expert historians had Randolph’s arms as red and white.
http://learning.battleofbannockburn.com/battlepedia/characters/thomas-randolph,-earl-of-moray/#.Vst-8ceQloN
I’m assuming that this was an earlier version—i.e. before Bannockburn and/or his earldom?—that I suspect is more accurate for my time period.
As always, you can find pictures and some of the places mentioned in
The Rogue
and more information on my website.
www.monicamccarty.com
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***
Please continue on to read an excerpt from the last book in Monica’s bestselling Highland Guard Series coming from Pocket Books in June 2016…
THE GHOST
Joan Comyn
swore allegiance to Robert the Bruce the day she witnessed England’s barbarous king torturing her famous mother, Scot patriot Bella MacDuff. Now the mysterious beauty slips into men’s hearts like a specter and entices England’s most illustrious barons to unwittingly divulge their secrets, then shares them with her king. Known only as the Ghost even among her Highland Guard brethren, Joan has become the most wanted spy in England.
The man determined to uncover her identity poses her biggest threat yet.
Alex Seton
once stood with Bruce but now fights for the enemy. Though Joan knows she must avoid the handsome warrior or risk discovery, his knightly chivalry touches a place in her long since buried. When his suspicions grow apparent, Joan realizes she must do everything in her power to stop Alex from revealing her mission and convince the powerful fighter to join forces with the Highland Guard once more. But as the ultimate battle in the great war approaches, will Alex chose love or honor?
An Excerpt from THE GHOST
PROLOGUE
Hagerstown Castle, Northumberland, England, late September 1306
It was a horrible, wicked lie! And had she not been eavesdropping on the two tiring women retained by her father to watch over her, Joan Comyn would have told them exactly that.
It couldn’t be true. No knight could do that to a woman. Not even Edward of England, the self-proclaimed “Hammer of the Scots,” could be so cruel and barbaric.
Could he?
A fresh stab of panic plunged through her chest. Though she never cried, her eyes prickled with tears as she slipped out of the alcove where she had been reading a book and trod soundlessly down the winding staircase of the castle that served as their temporary lodgings in the north of England. She wanted to put her hands over her ears to block out the offending words echoing in her head. Punish . . . traitor . . .
cage
.
No!
Her heart raced and thudded wildly as she ran across the spacious Hall—ignoring all the curious faces that turned to stare at her—to her father’s private solar. She pushed open the big oak door and burst into the room. “It can’t be true!”
Her father’s frown was dark and forbidding enough to make her start. She sobered, cursing herself for forgetting to knock. John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, hated to be disturbed, and though her father rarely turned his terrifying temper on her, the threat alone made her heart beat a little faster.
“You forget yourself, daughter. What is the meaning of this? As you can see”—he gestured to the half-dozen knights and barons seated around the table—“I am very busy.”
She was instantly contrite. Clasping her hands before her, Joan bowed her head and did her best to look modest and respectful—the two qualities her father valued in women (and twelve-year-old girls who hadn’t yet reached womanhood).
She lifted big eyes to his pleadingly. “Please, Father, I’m sorry to interrupt. But I heard something . . .” She lowered her voice, knowing well the risk in uttering the words. “About mother.”
She quickly looked down again, but not before seeing the bolt of rage strike her father’s handsome features. In the best of moments, her father was irrational on the subject of his soon-to-be-set-aside wife, and in the worst he could become belligerent and unpredictable.
The room went deathly quiet. Tension and discomfort were thick in the air.
“Leave us,” her father said sharply to his men.
They were only too eager to do his bidding, shuffling out quickly without looking at her. Not one of them would meet her eyes.
Her stomach dropped. Oh God, what if it
was
true?
Tears burning behind her eyes, she looked up at the man seated behind the large table. She would never have described him as warm and loving, but the cold, angry, bitter man he’d become over the past six months was nearly unrecognizable.
“If you speak of the treacherous bitch’s punishment”—she flinched at the crude word no matter how many times he said it—“it is undoubtedly true.”
Whatever blood Joan had left in her body drained to the floor. She swayed, lowering herself to the recently vacated bench opposite her father to prevent her legs from giving out. “But it can’t be. I heard them say that she’s been imprisoned in a cage high atop the ramparts at Berwick Castle . . . like an animal.”
Her father’s gaze hardened, his eyes two pinpricks of onyx with the unmistakable shiny gleam of malice. “It is true.”
Horror made her forget herself. “But that is barbaric! Who could have thought of such a thing? You must do something to help her! The king will listen to you.”
Even in England, the Scottish Earl of Buchan was not without considerable influence. Her mother, too, was important in her own right. Isabella MacDuff was the daughter of the previous Earl of Fife and the sister of the current earl—one of Scotland’s most ancient and revered families. It was inconceivable that King Edward of England could punish any woman like this, but a lady—a countess—of her mother’s position . . . surely her father would be able to put a stop to it?
His face turned florid and his eyes sparked with an unholy fervor.
Joan shrank back in the face of the temper she had unwittingly unleashed.
“I won’t do a damned thing! The whore is getting no better than she deserves for what she’s done.”
Joan’s throat choked with tears.
She’s not a whore!
She wanted to scream in protest, but fear held her tongue.
Perhaps guessing her thoughts, he slammed his fist down on the table. The whole room seemed to shake—including her. “As if putting a crown upon the head of her lover wasn’t enough, she is said to have taken the most notorious pirate in the Western Isles to her bed. Lachlan MacRuairi,” he bit out disgustedly, spittle foaming in the corners of his mouth. “A bastard and a brigand. If she’s being confined like an animal, it is because that is what the rutting bitch deserves.”
Joan loved her mother more than anyone in the world. She refused to believe what they said about her. They were lies meant to discredit her and explain what people thought was unnatural bravery in a woman. They needed an explanation for how a woman would dare defy not only her husband, but the most powerful king in Christendom to crown a “rebel” king.
But Robert Bruce had been like a brother to her mother—not a lover. As for Lachlan MacRuairi . . . Joan remembered the scary warrior who had appeared in her chamber in the middle of the night not long after her mother had left Balvenie Castle for Scone to crown Bruce to explain why she’d been unable to take Joan with her as she’d wanted to. He had been in charge of the guardsmen sent for her mother’s protection, that was all.
“She will freeze to death,” Joan whispered weakly, probing for any ounce of mercy that might remain for the woman he’d been married to for thirteen years. The woman he’d loved so much he could barely let her out of his sight and always had her under guard to keep her safe.
At least that’s what Joan had thought before. But maybe it was what her mother had wanted her to think. More and more, Joan was beginning to realize that something hadn’t been right in her parents’ marriage—that something wasn’t right with her father—and her mother had tried to prevent her from seeing it. What Joan thought had been love didn’t feel like love anymore. It felt like rabid possessiveness, control, and jealousy.
“Let her freeze,” her father said. “If I had my way, I’d see her hanging from the gibbet. I told Edward as much, but the king is reluctant to execute a woman—even one who is deserving. Instead she will serve as a warning, a reminder to all who might think to support the usurping ‘King Hood.’”
It was the name the English had given Robert the Bruce—the outlaw king. Nothing had been heard of Bruce and his followers in weeks. They were said to have fled to the Western Isles. They were hunted men. How long would it be before King Edward caught up with them?
Joan knew that help for her mother’s predicament would not come from that direction. Robert Bruce and his men were too busy trying to save their own lives to rescue her mother.
Nay, it was up to her. If anyone could help her mother it was she. Her father cared for her, the “beautiful” girl who so resembled him. She had to get through to him, even if it made him angry.
Joan might be quiet and reserved, but she wasn’t a coward. She had the blood of two of Scotland’s most important earldoms running through her veins. Taking a deep breath, she tried to clear the tears from her throat and lifted her eyes to meet his. “I know you think she betrayed you, Father, but she was only doing what she thought was right.”