Chapter One
Scotland, late fall, 1307
Wind sharp with the edge of winter battered Alesone MacNiven as she ducked beneath the thick limb of an oak. She scanned the surrounding trees, her body aching with exhaustion after two days of hard travel.
Withered brown leaves scraped across the snow-smeared ground like harbingers of death. She shuddered, damned the images haunting her. Though she hadna seen Comyn’s men since last night, his knights hadna given up their search for her.
Fingers trembling, she withdrew the ring from a hidden pocket inside her cape. A snowflake settled upon the ruby embraced by the gold filigree carving of a lion.
“Give this to King Robert,” Grisel Bucahn rasped. “Tell him—” A cough wracked her body.
“Dinna try to talk,” Alesone pleaded to the woman who’d raised her.
Her beloved mentor placed the ring in Alesone’s palm, curled her fingers over the circlet. “Lo-long ago I saved Robert Bruce’s life. He said if ever I had need of his assistance, to bring him this ring. ’Tis too late for me, but he will protect you.”
“Grisel—”
“Our enemy returns any moment. Go!”
Tears burning her eyes, Alesone hugged Grisel, slipped the ring into her pocket, and fled.
Sunlight shimmered off the ruby as if to mock her heartbreak. Fingers trembling, Alesone stowed the ring. Aye, the bastards would pay!
After taking a drink, she secured her water pouch, shifted the bow hung on her shoulder, and continued on. Beyond the stand of fir and oak, a field came into view. She kept to the woods. As much as she needed to put distance between herself and her pursuers, ’twas safest to travel beneath cover.
A pain-filled scream sounded nearby.
She ducked behind a clump of bushes.
“Tell us where King Robert is!” a man’s rough voice demanded.
Dread ripped through her.Sir Huwe!
Another agony-laden scream.
Pulse racing, Alesone looked where the voices had come from, in search of the knights. A distance away stood another stand of fir trees.
Go!’Twas death to linger.
And if she fled, whoever suffered Sir Huwe’s brand of twisted brutality would die like Grisel.
With quiet steps she crept to the trees. Between the breaks in the needled boughs, she caught sight of the burly knight’s back.
From her limited view, she couldna see if his detestable friend aided him with whomever he tortured. Little doubt the vermin was near. Like wolves, bad blood traveled in packs.
She withdrew her bow, nocked an arrow, then edged closer.
Another knight, ill-kempt, walked into view.
Her skin crawled with disgust.
With a curse, Sir Huwe hauled the man who lay sprawled on the ground to his feet. “The king is camped nearby; tell us where!”
Blood streaked the prisoner’s swollen face. He remained silent.
“Let me kill him,” the scrawny man spat. “He is naught but a traitor to Lord Comyn.”
Their captor struggled to break free. “King Robert is Scotland’s rightful sovereign.”
