Authors: Virginia Henley
"I remember you," Robert said, pleased with what he saw at Dumfries."How long have you been steward here?"
"Over twenty years, my lord."
Robert introduced Lynx de Warenne, who plied Jock with many pertinent questions about Dumfries.
"I understand that sheep mean wealth in the dales. How large is your flock?"
"Aye, my lord. Dumfries had a thousand sheep. The price of their wool would have kept us all year. Unfortunately, Comyn's army took the sheep before the shearing started."
Lynx saw the look of anger on the Brace's face. "Does Dumfries have its own forge?"
"Aye, my lord, we also have a gristmill and a brewhouse. We 54
are usually self-sufficient here." Jock Leslie was both honored and proud to answer the questions and give them a tour of the castle. He was deeply gratified when they praised his stewardship. These intelligent men fully understood the concept that castellans were castle keepers and must serve whoever garrisoned Dumfries. "We would be honored if you would stay for dinner, my lords."
Robert Bruce cocked an eyebrow at Lynx, who nodded eagerly. "Thank you, it will be our pleasure to dine at Dumfries."
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"Come, come quick! It's the Bruce himself! He's reputed to be the handsomest man in Scotland,"
Mary cried.
"And the strongest," Kate added. "Women faint at the sight of him!"
Jane saw that Megotta was scandalized by the avid hero worship her granddaughters were displaying and listened silently as Megotta rebuked them soundly. But Jane noticed it had little effect on her sisters and she too was curious. "Let's go and see what the wicked devil looks like," Jane urged Megotta.
They joined the crowd in the bailey to see for themselves the two powerful lords who were visiting Dumfries Castle. As their gazes swept over the two men, one fair, the other dark, it was easy to identify which one was Robert Bruce.
"Who is that with him? He looks like a Norman to me," Megotta said suspiciously.
"Rumor has it he's English, a personal friend of the Bruce," a woman in the crowd answered.
Jane Leslie felt outrage. How dare the Bruce bring an evil Anglo-Norman to Dumfries? Only one person in the crowd did not look at Robert Bruce. Jane's gaze came to rest upon the magnificent man with the tawny mane of hair and brilliant green eyes who stood beside the Bruce. She gasped in disbelief.
He was the living embodiment of her lynx!
55
As her fingers clasped the touchstone about her neck, she became aware of the pulse beating in her throat. Jane blinked rapidly, knowing the image could not be real, but she could not dispel it. The excited voices of her sisters and the noisy crowd fell away until all she could hear was her own wild heartbeat. Jane was aware of nothing and no one save the powerful male whose tawny-gold mane gave him the leonine look of a lynx.
For one heart-stopping moment, it seemed to Jane that the green eyes looked directly into hers and were able to look into her very soul. In a flash she realized that she knew this man; she had seen him before. In a heartbeat, Jane remembered her dream. It came flooding back to her in explicit, shameful detail.
The memories stopped the breath in her throat. In her mind's eye she watched the lynx transform himself into a human male and that man was here before her today in living flesh and blood. Jane's cheeks grew warm as she remembered how he moved with the lithe stealth of a lynx and before she could either cry out or run, he had held her in his powerful hands. This was the enemy! He was a Norman with evil powers to control her—to control them all.
"Megotta, we don't want him here," Jane whispered urgently. "We must get rid of him!"
Then Jock Leslie took the visitors into the castle and Jane and Megotta knew he would extend Dumfries' hospitality by inviting them to dine.
"We'll go to the kitchens," Megotta decided. "We'll get rid of them one way or another."
When Jane and her grandmother entered the kitchens through the rear door, the cooks were rushing about, stirring a cauldron of soup, testing the tenderness of a haunch of venison turning on a huge spit, putting round loaves into a massive baking oven, and throwing vegetables into boiling water.
"I shall make the gravy," Megotta declared, just as Jock Leslie arrived in the vast kitchens.
He took one look at Megotta and strode to her side. "Out of 56
this kitchen now, woman! I'll have none of your malicious tricks today. Would you bring shame down upon our heads?" he demanded. Megotta's protestations of innocence fell on deaf ears. Jock knew the depth of his mother-in-law's hatred for outsiders. "Andrew," he admonished his son, who was steward-in-training, "I'm putting you in charge. Don't allow Megotta back in here under any circumstances!"
After her grandmother left, Jane took herself off to a corner where she waited patiently until the food was ready to be served. Her emotions of fear and hatred were all tangled together, but of one thing she felt certain: the Norman was the more dangerous of the two visitors.
Jane stepped forward as one of the cooks poured soup into a large tureen and laced it with cream and wine. "Andrew, may I serve the soup?" she asked sweetly.
Her brother smiled at her. "Very well, Jane, but don't dawdle; it cools down quickly."
As Jane entered the dining hall, her heart was in her mouth as each step took her closer to Dumfries' honored guests. She was amazed at her own temerity. Would she really have enough courage to carry out her plan? She felt all ashiver as she lifted the ladle to serve Robert Bruce. Her nerve failed her, as she bit her lip and poured his soup without spilling a drop. She glanced furtively at the tawny-haired man sitting beside him and her eyes focused on his lips. She shuddered, remembering the things his wicked mouth had done to her in the dream. She drew in a swift breath as she saw his gaze rise from her breasts to her hair and she saw the swift appraisal and the fierce look of desire that hardened his face. When his sensual mouth curved in a smile of invitation, her resolve hardened. Jane quickly tipped the tureen so that the rich soup cascaded into the man's lap.
Lynx de Warenne jumped up immediately, thankful his leather tunic and chausses had prevented his being scalded. Like lightning his hand shot out to imprison the girl's wrist before she 57
could escape. His angry green gaze swept over the girl with the brilliant hair."Who the devil are you?"
"A Celt!" she said defiantly.
"A little hellcat who needs taming, I think."
"I am a sworn enemy to the evil English!"
Jock Leslie, who had been bringing his guests the best wine Dumfries had to offer, rushed forward to try to undo the damage his daughter had done.
"Who is this girl?" de Warenne demanded.
"A clumsy serving wench, my lord." Jock was too embarrassed to acknowledge Jane as his daughter.
"She's not clumsy in the least. That was no accident, it was done deliberately." De Warenne's eyes narrowed as he freed her wrist. He knew she'd like nothing better than to fly at him and scratch his face, but she did not dare. "I'd like to teach you manners," he said in a low, rough voice that told her clearly he'd like to do other things to her as well.
"Leave the hall at once!" Jock ordered. "She will be punished, my lord."
As the red-haired maid fled the hall, Robert Bruce spoke up quickly. "Allow me to apologize on behalf of all Celts. Our passionate natures get in the way of rational behavior sometimes."
Lynx de Warenne couldn't help but laugh. He wouldn't mind pitting his own passionate nature against the red-haired maiden's. "Don't punish the girl, Jock Leslie," he said. "I know hatred runs deep for the English, here in Scotland, and the serving wench is no more than an impetuous girl."
Jock summoned raven-haired Kate with an imperious finger. "My own daughter will serve ye the rest of yer meal, my lords. I give ye my pledge that nothing more will mar yer visit."
Jane ran to the stables as if the devil himself were after her. She saw that her brother Keith had put the lords' horses in the best stalls and had found oats for them. As Jane approached the beautiful stallions, she began to talk softly. Though she intensely disliked their owners, the horses were the finest she had ever seen. 58
She threaded her fingers through the silken mane of the powerful gray and was delighted when he whickered.
After talking to them for a while, she became tempted to open and search their saddlebags.
Perhaps she could learn the identity of the disturbing man who accompanied Robert Bruce to Dumfries.
Perhaps she would unearth a clue that would tell her why he had come and what he was doing here.
As she looked at the contents of the gray's saddlebags, she decided this horse belonged to the Bruce. All they held was water, oat cakes, and a rolled-up plaid. Jane put the things back the way she had found them and moved over to the next stall. She rubbed the sleek black neck of the stallion, murmuring endearments for long minutes before she unfastened the saddlebags to look inside.
Here again the contents were disappointing. All she found were apples, a pair of black leather riding gauntlets, and a parchment of what looked like a map of Annandale to her untrained eye. Since she could not read, Jane refolded it and put everything back the way she had found it; all except for one of the apples.
With one hand she held the apple out to the black stallion, while stroking his neck with the other.
Jane almost jumped out of her skin when an angry voice demanded, "What the hell are you doing to my horse?"
She tried to run, but his long strides devoured the distance between them and a calloused hand took her arm in a viselike grip. "Have a care, Norman, I am a witch with strong powers over an enemy of Scotland!"
"Your superstitious claims do not interest me. What I want to know is what did you feed my horse?"
Jane forgot her fear and became indignant. "I would never harm an animal. I gave him an apple.
Let me go, you are hurting me!"
"I ought to hurt you, I ought to put you across my knee, you willful little jade."
"Oh-ho, what do we have here? Am I interrupting the prelude to a roll in the hay?" Robert asked with a grin. 59
"Very amusing," Lynx said dryly, relaxing his grip on the girl. "How the hell can one female cause such havoc in so short a time?"
Robert winked. "You know what they say about redheads: avoid them like the plague!"
Jane stood shaking as she watched them ride from the stables. Relief overwhelmed her that the Anglo-Norman was leaving. But just as she felt this wasn't their first encounter, Jane sensed it would not be their last. The lynx would return. It was inevitable.
Six
John de Warenne's plan worked like a charm. As the Scottish army arrived at the first slopes of the Lammermuir Hills, tired from its invasion of Cumberland, the English forces swept down upon it.
When the Scots tried to retreat, they ran into Bruce's army, who had come up behind them, and they were trapped between the two enemy forces.
In the fierce battle that ensued at Spottsmuir, near Dunbar, the Scots suffered a crushing defeat.
Edward's commanders were battle-hardened veterans, their men-at-arms far better disciplined and equipped than the Scots. By the end of the day, not only was Comyn captured, but one hundred and thirty important Scottish knights, along with the Earls of Menteith, Atholl, and Ross. The following day, Dunbar Castle surrendered.
The evening after a victory in battle was always given over to celebration and feasting. The halls of Dunbar Castle rang with revelry as barrels of ale and casks of malt whisky were rolled up from its cellars that now overflowed with prisoners. In his campaign tent, Lynx de Warenne felt weary and jaded, not filled with the glory that usually accompanied victory.
What the hell is the matter with me? he wondered. Alicia's words came back to him: "War is your life," she had saidmatter-of-factly, and Lynx could not deny it. He tried to envision his future and what lay before him. After Scotland was subdued, France would become the next military challenge.
Suddenly, it wasn't enough. Lynx wanted more. He hungered for something. He did not quite know what it was, but he knew he would not find it fighting battles in France. Lynx closed his eyes to banish the thought of war, but pictures of the atrocities 61
he had witnessed in the streets of Berwick rose up to haunt him. Children had been squandered, their lives snuffed out like wax candles. Nothing in this world was more precious than a child; he would sell his soul for one of his own.
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that would eventually place Scotland firmly in his hands. In Dunbar's great hall, he had the prisoners brought before him, one by one, from the dungeons so he could have alook at them. But more importantly so he could receive their submission as they bent the knee to him and swore their fealty.
As was his practice, Edward sent the prisoners to England to be held at Hertford. Until recently the wealthy and powerful de Clares had kept his prisoners secure. Now he would charge his new son-in-law, Monthermer, with their security and test the man's mettle.
Earl Patrick, restored to his castle of Dunbar, arranged a great feast to celebrate the victory.
Edward Plantagenet drank a toast to his supreme commander, John de Warenne. "You have done well, John. I knew when I chose you to head the army, I picked the best man for the job. You and I were taught by the master himself, Simon de Montfort. A
cautious
general is slow in the pursuit of a retreating enemy; a
great
general strikes as hard when his foe is beaten as when the battle is still undecided."