The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(6)

He crumpled the parchment in a ball in his fist. “Buchan has fled. The Comyns have been defeated.”

She blinked. It took her a moment to comprehend what he’d said as it seemed impossible. John Comyn, the Earl of Buchan—kinsman to John Comyn the murdered Lord of Badenoch—was one of the most powerful men in Scotland.

“But how?” she asked. “Bruce was hovering near death.”

Her father had always encouraged his children to ask questions. He deplored ignorance, even in women, which was why he’d insisted that all his daughters be educated at the convent. But seeing his face flame and body stiffen with rage, she almost wished her question back.

“Even from his sickbed the scourge manages miracles,” he said disgustedly. “The people already think him some kind of hero—like the bloody second coming of Arthur and Camelot. Buchan had the bastard pinned near Inverurie, but his men faltered when they saw ‘The Bruce’ at the head of the army.” He slammed his fist down on the table beside him, sending wine sloshing from his goblet. “The Comyns ran like cowards at the sight of a sick man being carried into battle. They fled from a damned invalid!”

His face turned so red that the veins in his temples started to bulge.

Fear clutched her chest. Not because she feared his anger, but because of the danger to his health. She fought back the tears that sprang to her eyes. Her fiercely proud father would see her tears as a sign that she thought him weak. He was a powerful warrior, not a man who needed to be coddled.

But this war was killing him as surely as a slow poison. If she could just get him through this trouble with Bruce, everything would be all right. Why couldn’t the false king have just succumbed to illness the way he was supposed to? This would all be over.

She had to calm him. Instead of using tears and pleas, she took his hand and forced a teasing smile to her face. “You’d better not let Mother hear you talk like that around me. You know she blames you for my ‘unmaidenly’ vocabulary.” For a moment she feared her words had not penetrated, but slowly the haze of anger started to dissipate. When he finally looked at her as if he really saw her, she added innocently, “Perhaps I should I call for her?”

He let out a sharp bark of laughter, muddled by the heaviness in his lungs. “Don’t you dare. She’ll force another one of those revolting potions down my throat. Lord knows your mother means well, but she would drive a saint to perdition with her constant worrying.” He shook his head, giving her a fond look that told her he knew exactly what she had done. “You’ve nothing to fear, you know. I’m perfectly hale.” His eyes narrowed. “But you are a shrewd lass, Annie-love. More like me than any of the others. Haven’t I always told you so?”

Anna dimpled with pleasure at the compliment. “Yes, Father.”

He continued as if she hadn’t responded. “Since the day you toddled into my solar with your thumb in your mouth, took one look at the battle map, and moved our men to the perfect place to attack.”

She laughed, having no memory of the day but having heard the story many times before. “I thought the carved figures were toys,” she said.

“Ah, but your instincts were pure.” He sighed. “But I fear it will not be so simple this time. Buchan writes that he will seek refuge in England. With the Comyns defeated, the usurper will turn to us.”

Us? She swallowed hard. Dread settled over her. “But what about the truce?”

Months ago, when Bruce had first started his march north, he’d turned his eye briefly to battling the men of Argyll, threatening them by land and by sea. Her father, ill and undermanned, had agreed to a truce—as had the Earl of Ross to their north. She’d hoped the truce would mean an end to the fighting.

“It expires on the Ides of August. The day after, we can expect to see the fiend at our gate. He’s chased off the MacDowells in Galloway, and with the Comyns gone ...” Her father frowned his disgust again.

Sensing a return of his anger, she reminded him, “The Earl of Buchan has never been a good battle commander. You’ve said so many times before. King Hood would not have been so lucky against you, which is no doubt why he sought a truce in the first place. Dal Righ is still too fresh in his memory.”

Her father fingered the chunky silver brooch he wore at his neck. The large oval crystal surrounded by tiny pearls was a talisman of just how close he’d come to capturing the fugitive king. They’d had Bruce in their grasp—literally—the brooch coming off in the struggle.

She could tell by the hint of a smile around his mouth that her words had pleased him. “You’re right, but our previous victory will not stop him this time. We’re all that’s left between him and the crown.”

“But what of the Earl of Ross?” she said. “Surely, he will fight with us?”

Her father’s mouth tightened. “Ross cannot be counted on. He will be reluctant to leave his lands unprotected. But I will try to persuade him that we must join forces to defeat King Hood once and for all.”

There was nothing reproachful in her father’s manner, but Anna felt a twinge of guilt nonetheless. Persuading Ross might have been made easier if she’d accepted the proposal of his son Hugh last year.

“I will call my barons and knights and send word to Edward requesting aid. He is not half the king that his father was, but perhaps Comyn’s defeat will finally force him to see the imperative of sending more men north.”