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Robert felt it too, but he had a responsibility to do all he could to protect his vassals. “Go to the men,” he urged.
With a nod, Niall turned his horse from Robert and headed down the hill toward Robert’s vassals. Three hundred and fifty of his men who were loyal to him stood mixed with three hundred and fifty of the king’s men. Robert clicked his heels against his steed’s side and closed the distance between himself and de Burgh who flicked his gaze at Robert and then yelled toward the castle, “You do not have long to decide!”
“De Burgh,” Robert growled, “ye can nae burn alive innocent men. They follow Moray’s orders.”
De Burgh jerked his head toward Robert. “Innocent?” he snarled. “These Scots rebel against Edward, their liege lord. They deserve their fate.”
“Edward is nae their liege lord,” Robert said through clenched teeth. “John Balliol was their king.” The words sliding from his tongue were bitter but true.
“They should be glad to see such a weak king as Balliol driven from the throne,” de Burgh retorted.
“Edward’s plan all along, I’m certain,” Robert snapped.
De Burgh flashed a smile. “Your people are the ones who appointed Edward to choose the next king of Scotland, all those years ago, if you recall. And he saw Balliol as the man with the best claim to the throne.”
“He saw Balliol’s weakness, and my grandfather’s strength, and that’s why Edward chose Balliol,” Robert growled.
“You sound as if you wish to rebel,” de Burgh said, smirking. “Where is your father, then?” De Burgh made a show of twisting around in his horse as if searching for Robert’s father before facing Robert once more. His lip curled back in a taunting smile. “Ah yes, your father does not have the fortitude to rule Scotland. If he did, he would have risen in rebellion with the people who would fight against Edward in Balliol’s name. Fall in line with me, Bruce,” de Burgh threatened. “You have no other choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” he spit out, finding the hilt of his sword and flicking his gaze toward Niall and Robert’s vassals some one hundred yards behind them. Robert looked to de Burgh once more and motioned toward the captured men. “Release them.”
“You insolent, foolish pup!” de Burgh growled, spittle flying from his mouth. “Stand down! Moray!” de Burgh roared. “I give you to the count of ten before I order my guards to fill the outbuilding with your men, and we can all watch them burn.”
A window at the front of the castle banged open, and a woman—Lady Moray, Robert realized—appeared. “My husband is nae here, so we kinnae send him out.”
De Burgh snorted. “She expects us to believe Moray did not come here to gather more men?”
“Perhaps he did nae,” Robert said, seeing a chance to prevent bloodshed. “Moray rebels by the renegade William Wallace’s side, and Wallace’s men keep to the woods. Perhaps Moray went there first.”
“I don’t believe it,” de Burgh snapped. To Lady Moray he shouted, “Lower your bridge. I will see for myself if you speak the truth.”
“Nay, ye Irish scum! Ye simper and cater to the English king!” Lady Moray bellowed.
Robert’s fingers curled tighter around the cool iron of his sword. There would be war today, after all. Lady Moray had just shot an arrow of barbed words at a man who wore his pride like a cloak.
De Burgh’s face turned purple. “Burn them!” he cried, his voice trembling with rage. The two guards standing near the door rushed to open it, and as they did, de Burgh flicked his hand to a slight guard who held the torch. “Set the fire when the door is closed.”
Shouts erupted from the captured warriors, and Robert’s blood rushed through his veins and roared in his ears. His life was about to change forever. But his honor would remain intact. He would rise in rebellion, not for Balliol to be returned to the throne as king, but for the people of Scotland to keep their freedom. He could worry of nothing else now.
The terrified shouts of Moray’s men as they were locked in the falconry pierced the roar of blood in his ears. “Tell yer men to halt,” Robert yelled to de Burgh. “Do so now and take yer leave from Moray’s land, or I’ll kill ye.” His heart beat like a drum.
De Burgh bared his teeth. “You have misplaced your loyalty, Bruce.”
Robert flicked his gaze past de Burgh, over the rocky ground that separated the two of them from the warriors in the distance, to Niall at the front of Robert’s vassals. He raised his right hand and swiveled it round, giving the signal to rebel.
Niall smiled, a flash of white against his sun-bronzed skin. He raised his own hand and returned the signal. They would live or die this day, but they would do it with honor.
Tension vibrated through every part of Robert’s body as he yelled, “To arms for Scotland!”
All at once, the hissing, scraping, sliding, and singing of seven hundred blades filled the air, and the clashing of steel sounded in the distance. A woman’s scream ripped through the noise, shocking Robert by how close it was. De Burgh swung his sword at Robert, but Robert parlayed the blow and unseated de Burgh with one move. With no time to waste, he turned his horse toward the outbuilding, and he gaped at the scene before him. The squire who held the torch was running from de Burgh’s guards and toward Robert. The young man suddenly swerved toward the moat and threw the torch toward it. The bright flame disappeared into the water, and Robert raced to save the man who would likely be killed for his actions.
Robert met the guards halfway to the squire, who was now running back toward him. He parried a blow from the left, then the right, and caught a glimpse of Niall riding fast toward him.
“Release the trapped men!” he yelled to the Campbell, but in a breath, de Burgh’s warriors descended on his friend, now engaged in a battle for his life.
Behind Robert, the loud grating of the drawbridge being lowered stilled all motion for a moment. God’s teeth! Surely, Lady Moray was not lowering it in surrender. Within a breath, the thundering of hundreds of horses’ hooves against the wooden bridge set a buzz in the air that seemed to vibrate into Robert’s very bones.
When he glanced around for the squire, he saw nothing but English knights heading toward him. He raised his sword in defense of an oncoming hit, knocked the blade out of the knight’s hand, and nudged his mount out of the way of another Englishman. It had turned him directly toward the bridge where Lady Moray herself came riding out, her red hair billowing behind her as she led her husband’s warriors in a charge. They appeared to number almost two hundred, not near enough that they could have withstood an attack from the combined forces of the Bruce men and the English garrison, but they had more than enough to overcome the English if the lady intended to join forces with Robert. But did she?
