The Raider (Highland Guard #8)

The Raider (Highland Guard #8)
Monica McCarty



FOREWORD

The year of our lord thirteen hundred and twelve. Since Robert the Bruce first made his bid for the crown six years ago, he has defeated not only the English but also the powerful Scottish noblemen who stood against him. After a much-needed reprieve from warfare for Bruce and his men, in late summer 1310 the English marched north to invade Scotland, this time under the leadership of Edward II.

But the second Edward is nothing like his “Hammer of the Scots” father, and the English campaign was a disaster. Bruce refused to take the field in pitched battle. Instead, with the help of the elite warriors of the legendary Highland Guard, Bruce waged a “secret war,” using the pirate tactics he had perfected, harrying the English with surprise attacks and skirmishes, and wreaking havoc on the soldiers’ morale.

After unsuccessfully attempting to track down Bruce, Edward and his army withdrew to the English Marches to wait out the winter in Berwick-upon-Tweed before marching on the rebels again. But the English king’s second campaign was delayed when in the summer of 1311, after ten months in Scotland and the Borders, trouble with his barons required him to return to London.

Bruce immediately took advantage of Edward’s withdrawal and went on the offensive, for the first time taking his war deep into the English countryside. Like the Vikings before them, the fierce Scot raiders struck terror in the heart of the enemy. The names of their leaders will go down in history. Men like Thomas Randolph, James “The Black” Douglas, Edward Bruce, and Robbie Boyd will earn both fame and fortune, beginning the fierce campaign that will eventually bring about the end of the war.

Prologue

Gud Robert Boyd, that worthi was and wicht

(Good Robert Boyd that worthy wise and strong)

—Blind Harry, The Wallace

Kildrummy Castle, Scottish Highlands, October 1306

Killed? Rosalin nearly choked on a bit of beef.

“Are you all right?” her brother asked, leaning over to pat her on the back.

After a burst of coughing, she took a sip of sweetened wine and nodded. “I’m fine.” Seeing his concern, she managed a smile. “Really. I’m sorry for the disturbance. You were saying something about the prisoners?”

Her attempt at nonchalance didn’t fool him. He frowned. He’d been speaking in a low voice to her guardian, Sir Humphrey, on his other side, and the conversation obviously hadn’t been meant for her ears. She blinked up at him innocently, but Robert, the first Baron de Clifford, hadn’t become one of the most important commanders in the war against the rebel Scots because of his rank and handsome face—although he certainly possessed both. Nay, he’d risen so high in King Edward’s estimation because he was smart, loyal, and determined. He was also one of the greatest knights in England, and she was fiercely proud of him.

Even if he was entirely too perceptive.

“An unfortunate accident, that is all. Part of the wall collapsed when the prisoners were dismantling it. Two of the rebels were crushed by the stone and killed.”

Her heart jumped to her throat and a small cry of distress escaped before she could help it. Oh God, please don’t let it be him!

Aware of her brother’s watchful gaze, she attempted to cover her too concerned reaction with a maidenly, “That’s horrible!”

He studied her a little longer, and then patted her hand. “Do not let it distress you.”

But she was distressed. Deeply distressed. Although she certainly couldn’t tell her brother why. If he learned about her fascination with one of the rebel prisoners, he would send her back to London on the first ship, as he’d threatened to do when she’d arrived unexpectedly a week ago with her new guardian, Sir Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of Hereford.

“Christ’s Cross, Rosalin! This is the last place in Christendom suitable for a young girl.”

But the opportunity to see Cliff had been too tempting to resist. With her in London and her brother fighting the Scottish rebels in the North, it had been nearly two years since she’d seen him, and she missed him desperately. He, Maud (Cliff’s wife of eight years), and the children were all the family she had left, and if she had to venture into Hades to see them, she would. Maud would have made the journey with Rosalin and the earl’s party, but she’d just discovered she was with child again.

“I don’t understand why the wall is being dismantled in the first place,” Rosalin said. “I thought we won the war?”

Her distraction worked. Cliff loved nothing more than to talk about England’s great victory. Robert Bruce’s bid for the crown had failed. The outlaw king had been forced to flee Scotland, and the English were now occupying most of Scotland’s important castles, including this one, the former stronghold of the Scottish Earls of Mar.

“We did. Robert Bruce’s short-lived rebellion is at an end. He might have escaped the noose set for him at Dunaverty Castle, but he won’t find refuge in the Western Isles for long. Our fleet will find him.” He shrugged. “Even if they don’t, he only has a handful of men left under his command.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But aren’t they Highlanders?”

Her brother laughed and tweaked her nose. Though sixteen—nearly seventeen—was much too old for tweaking, she didn’t mind. She knew just how fortunate she was to have a brother who cared for her so deeply. Not many fourteen-year-old boys would have bothered themselves with a four-year-old sister on the death of their parents, but Cliff had always watched out for her. Even when they were both made wards of the king, he always made sure she knew she was not alone. If he sometimes acted like more of an overprotective father than a brother, she didn’t mind. To her, he was both.