Highland Warlord - Amy Jarecki Page 0,1

times to act in the service of Edward and prove his loyalty. But Bruce wasn’t entirely convincing. For example, when Edward asked Robert to supply siege engines for the 1304 attack on Stirling Castle, Bruce complied, sending the trebuchets without an essential component which rendered them useless.

Following the death of his father and the execution of William Wallace, Bruce became more daring in his pursuit of the throne. He propositioned John Comyn (the only other viable contender for the crown at this time) and asked John to choose one of two alternatives—either John reign as king and grant Robert all his lands and possessions, or Robert assume the throne, granting John the likewise property rights. John accepted the second proposition which was formalized by sealed indentures and oaths of good faith.

But Comyn immediately broke his oath by writing to Edward and revealing Robert’s “treasonous” acts. Robert the Bruce was then summoned to London where he was presented with the evidence and told he would be put to death. Assisted by the Earl of Gloucester, Robert immediately fled back to Scotland and arranged a rendezvous with John Comyn at the Church of the Grey Friars in Dumfries. On the 10th of February 1306, the two men were unable to reconcile, Robert wanted to avoid violence but as their quarrel escalated, he stabbed Comyn, an act that gravely disturbed the future king. With haste, he rode to Glasgow, made a confession to Bishop Wishart, and received absolution for his sin.

Now, time was of the essence. There could be no more waiting. Bruce and his retinue raced for Scone, the traditional place of inauguration. Many supporters joined him on his ride northward, including James Douglas, a man who had ample cause to hate the English clear to his very soul.

Chapter One

Scotland, 23 March 1306. The Road to Scone.

The orange glow of dawn skimmed tufts of striated clouds in the eastern sky. But James Douglas hardly noticed. Neither did he pay heed to the icy breeze cutting through his mail and the quilted weave of the aketon beneath. Even the chausses covering his thighs were stiff from the cold. Surely the skies threatened a late snow, though James preferred to be nowhere else this day.

From a ridge overlooking the Glasgow road, he sat atop a fine palfry, his breaths billowing a steamy grey. If only the horse were his and not a loan from Bishop Lamberton. But these were dark times and the name of Douglas had all but been smote from the nobility. One day, James intended to own a herd of gallant warhorses. Just as his father had before the wars.

Intently, he watched the road for movement. At last, his chance had come. And no matter how hot his impatient blood thrummed through his loins, he vowed to maintain his vigil and remain patient. Soon he would right the wrongs against his father and regain his lands.

And the time was nigh.

At last, a robust contender had come forward to claim the throne of Scotland, a man with cods enough to pull together this great nation and send the English back across the border once and for all. And James fully intended to be at the center of the maelstrom.

After daylight had spread across the glen, a flicker of metal caught James’ eye first, followed by the white blaze on the nose of a bay horse. He counted thirty riders creeping through the trees with a wagon and sentry in diamond formation at the rear. Not an impressive number for a king or even an earl, for that matter, but perhaps the small retinue would not attract as much attention as an army of five hundred or more.

Before he picked up his reins, James closed his eyes and turned his face to the heavens. Dear God, I am not gifted with the silken eloquence of a holy man, but in my hour of need, please grant me the words to convey the strength of my fealty and the depth of my desire to ride at this man’s side.

Taking an earnest breath, he cued the palfry down the incline and onto the road while the approach of horses thundered from around the bend. James dropped his reins and raised his hands, driving his mount with his knees.

At fifty paces, the retinue came into view. James grinned at the sight of Robert the Bruce in the lead—he would have assumed no less. By his reputation, the contender was no coward. And what a sight to