Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,81

have to hear him boasting about the siege weapon now. Even if its destruction had been a bitter blow to them all.

He’d breach Dunnottar’s defenses eventually, but it would just take longer.

Edward set down the goblet on the makeshift table beside him with a thud. The devil take Scotland. He was getting too old for this.

Brushing crumbs off his surcoat, Edward rose to his feet. His joints pained him this morning, as they often did before he got moving. Despite his best efforts to ignore his advancing age, today he felt every one of his sixty-two years.

Shaw Irvine backed up a few steps as Edward walked by, stooping to exit the tent.

Irvine, like the vexatious shadow he was, followed him.

Outdoors, a warm breeze caressed Edward’s face. Summer was indeed upon them, although in the midst of a campaign, it was easy to forget what time of the year it was. Edward heaved in a deep breath.

How I miss Margaret.

It had been months since he’d seen his wife. If only he could click his fingers and find himself standing on English soil, Margaret by his side.

Edward’s gaze settled upon the solid walls of Dunnottar, outlined against an indigo sky. Dawn wasn’t far off.

Wallace was inside somewhere, waiting him out. England and Margaret would have to keep while the outlaw still eluded him.

Edward turned, his attention spearing Shaw Irvine. The laird had gone red in the face. His lips parted as he readied himself to speak.

However, a shout from behind them interrupted him.

“Sire!”

Hugh De Burgh strode through the camp toward them. Dressed for battle in a heavy hauberk, the coif pulled up, the knight was a formidable sight indeed. Hugh had followed Edward through many battles, and the king was pleased to have such a knight at his side.

However, the look on his captain’s face as he approached made Edward tense. The man wore a deep scowl.

“What is it?” Edward greeted him.

“Word has just arrived from Stirling, sire … the garrison has fallen.”

Edward’s breathing caught. “What?”

“It gets worse,” Hugh plowed on. “Comyn and Robert Bruce have joined forces against us … their men have slaughtered ours.” He paused there, his scowl deepening. “There is a rumor that William Wallace fights with them.”

A chill swept through Edward, engulfing him from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. “A rumor?” he finally managed. “Has he actually been seen?”

Hugh nodded. “A big man with wild dark hair and beard fought alongside Comyn’s younger brother … and has helped take back Stirling. Folk say he is William Wallace.”

Edward’s gut clenched.

Had Lady Gavina De Keith spoken the truth? Had that blacksmith lied to him?

Heat swept through him, dousing the chill of shock. It pulsed in his belly, in time with his heartbeat.

Slowly, he turned his gaze to Dunnottar once more. The De Keiths deserved his wrath, but it was the Wallace he really wanted.

And the bastard isn’t even here.

Edward’s hands balled into tight fists at his side. The blood roared in his ears; Irvine was speaking, but he couldn’t hear him.

Nearly two weeks he’d been here. He’d wasted countless soldiers upon the siege, men he could have used elsewhere.

I’ll have Blair Galbraith’s guts for this.

“What do you wish to do now, sire?” Hugh’s voice cut through the roar in his ears. “Shall we ready the ladders for the morning’s assault?”

Edward unclenched his jaw, tasting blood. He’d accidentally bitten his tongue. Someone was going to pay for this—dearly.

Edward of England wasn’t anyone’s fool, but right now, he felt as if he’d been played like a lute.

Wallace is behind this. He wanted me away from Stirling … this was his plan all along.

Edward’s vision dimmed. When he finally spoke, his voice came out thick, choked. “No … we pack up this morning and ride for Stirling. Ready the men.”

The knight gave a brisk nod, his lantern jaw bunching.

“You can’t abandon the attack!” Shaw Irvine stepped into Edward’s field of vision, his face as red as raw liver. “You started the siege, and you must finish it.”

Edward’s gaze fixed upon the laird. “Excuse me?”

A few feet away, Hugh cast Irvine a warning look. Edward had lowered his voice, and all those who’d weathered the king’s blistering temper knew what that meant.

But not Irvine. He too had a temper. “But we made an agreement.”

“The devil take your agreement. We’re leaving.”

“Half my men are dead!” Irvine bellowed, spittle flying. “I can’t take Dunnottar alone.” He halted there, panting as he sought to contain his fury. “Leave me a