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Chapter Twenty-Seven
From his vantage point atop the hill, Will could see the troops massing down the river valley a few miles ahead, all heading to Berwick. The English reinforcements were daunting in their numbers, thousands of men trudging alongside a wagon train bulging with weapons, tents and provisions. A veritable river of violence and death was headed for the Scots forces some miles up ahead. He spotted wood and tools, possibly siege engines, in pieces now, but easily assembled. Soon they would be hurling volley after volley at the same walls the Scots had attacked not a year earlier. Some victories, it seemed, were fleeting, and while King Robert had been basking in the glory of taking the prestigious border town, his enemies had been plotting how to take it back.
Will glanced back at his men, a hundred or so, vulnerable, now they had left their ships with a handful of men in the bay ten miles north at Burnmouth. There had been no point in bringing them up river to fall foul of English ships if a blockade of Berwick was already underway. He needed certainty as to their role in this fight before acting, and for that, he needed to find Cormac Buchanan. If his scouts were correct, then nightfall would bring them to the Bruce’s camp where Cormac was most likely to be.
He rode back to his men, sheltering in the trees and turned to Waldrick. ‘English, down in the valley below. We must ride around them and stay out of sight.’
‘How many, Will?’
‘More than we can handle, my friend. Move the men back into the trees quietly.’
‘Will,’ hissed Waldrick in alarm.
Hooded men on horseback emerged from the forest around them. Swords scraped free of scabbards, and the Bains braced themselves as the strangers quickly surrounded them.
‘Hold, they are Scots,’ snarled their leader, driving forward his huge, black horse. He rode closer to Will. ‘What foul wind blew you onto these shores? I would have expected you to be running from a fight instead of towards one,’ said the man contemptuously as he pulled back his hood.
It seemed he had no need to find Cormac Buchanan, for Cormac Buchanan had found him. Will sucked in a breath and braced himself for trouble.
‘I seek an audience with the King, Cormac.’
‘I thought he was no King of yours?’
‘He is when I need him to be. Don’t you want to know why I am here?’
‘Whatever the reason, I can be assured I won’t like it. Why don’t you tell me now?’
‘I will tell the King and only the King.’
‘Where is my sister?’
‘Safe, back at Fitheach, guarded by my best men.’
‘So that she can’t escape you?’
‘Like I said, so that she is safe.’
‘Has Morna come to regret shackling herself to you? Is she happy with her lot?’ Cormac’s lip curled in disgust as he looked Will up and down.
‘Not exactly.’
Cormac glared and his mouth set in a hard line. ‘You and your men will follow me to camp.’
***
Morna went in search of Beigis the morning after her arrival at Beharra. She found Ravenna’s friend sitting on a dry stone wall near the stables with two flaxen-haired children chasing the chickens at her feet.
‘You are Beigis? May I sit with you?’ she asked.
Beigis looked discomforted but replied, ‘Yes, of course.’
Morna settled herself on the wall. The stone was warm under her bottom where the sun hit it.
‘How beautiful they are,’ said Morna, smiling at the children.
‘They are my whole life,’ said the woman with feeling.
‘Beigis, forgive me if I pry, but Ravenna told me you fled here because you were in danger from Ranulph Gowan.’
