she whispered.
He grinned, and the years disappeared from his face. “Miracles happen, lass. God knows I deserve one.”
Jeanne did not protest when the noble she recognized as Sir David Lyndsey led her away to a small room inside the castle. It wasn’t as large or elegant as the Maxwell chambers, but at least it was comfortable. A huge mantel covered one entire wall and heavy curtains enclosed the bed. Colorful tapestries kept out the drafts, and a small window set high in the wall provided air and light. She held her hands close to the blazing fire, hungry for the sustaining warmth of the flames. It was a pointless gesture. The ice around her heart had extended to every part of her. For Jeanne Maxwell there was no warmth in all the world.
***
Jamie Stewart’s mood on his way to Northumberland was not pleasant. Against the better judgment of his magnates, namely Bishop William Elphinstone of Aberdeen, he was attempting the impossible, something no Scottish monarch had ever done before. He had turned his back upon a classic tradition and moved his men out of their own natural fortress to take on an enemy, rich, impetuous, powerful, flushed with victory, and tired of peace. In defense, the Scots had a chance. As the aggressor, victory was impossible. All this and more Jamie knew, and his heart was heavy.
He rode quickly, holding his mount to a pace few men could best. Before dawn, he’d passed through the valley of Whiteadder in the Lammermuir Hills and left Norham Castle and the River Tweed in the distance. The first light of dawn streaked the sky when at last he crossed Till and joined his forces in the Flodden Hills. Reining in his exhausted stallion, the king surveyed his battleground with satisfaction. Protected by three significant mountains, it was unassailable from the southwest, equally impossible from the south, and to the east an advancing army would have to cross the River Till. The only viable approach was from the southeast along the flat ground between the foot of Flodden Hill and the river. This narrow precipice with its marshy ground was much too dangerous for an army to attempt their attack.
Jamie had already decided to stay put on the hill and draw out his enemy. With Huntly covering Branxton Hill and Maxwell on Flodden Edge, the Scots could last until summer without losing a single man. Surrey, the English commander, encamped at Woller Haugh seven miles to the south, would not willingly walk into such a trap. If he failed to show this morning, the ninth of September, the Scots could retreat with honor. This was Jamie’s only hope.
***
John Maxwell looked over his troops from his vantage point on Flodden Edge. Hundreds of peat fires flickered in the predawn darkness. Across the Till he heard the English army readying for battle. The night before, he’d sent a company of men across the border to pillage an English village. This act of destruction, in full view of the English army on English soil, was an attempt to provoke the earl of Surrey into an early battle. It was a masterly move. Had the earl been a less experienced man, the ploy would have worked. As it was, it did nothing more than cement him in his purpose.
Before John’s astonished eyes, the English army now moved out of the range of Scottish cannons, northward into Scotland. For more than an hour he watched until the entire army disappeared behind the hills. A messenger on a lathered horse rode up.
“The king orders you to move your men to Branxton Hill. Burn the camp behind you.”
John frowned. Surrey would hardly be foolish enough to leave the rear of his army open to attack on foreign soil. If Jamie was shortsighted enough to believe such an absurdity, he must be reasoned with. John ignored the order. “Where is the king, lad?” he asked.
“At Branxton Hill.”
John’s heart sank. Only an idiot would move his troops away from the natural fortress of the mountains to engage an army four times the size of his own. Digging his heels into the sides of his mount, John headed for Branxton Hill. Halfway there, he met the king, surrounded by a company of men riding south at a furious pace. They reined in their horses when they saw him.
“The English have doubled back across the Till,” Jamie panted. “’Tis a trap. Secure your positions on the slope. Home and Huntly on the left. Errol, Crawford,