The Crown in the Heather (The Bruce Trilogy, #1) by N. Gemini Sasson

Author:N. Gemini Sasson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Scotland, Robert the Bruce, medieval, knight, England, battle, king, historical fiction, Edward I, Edward II
Publisher: Cader Idris Press
Published: 2010-07-03T16:00:00+00:00

Ch. 16

Robert the Bruce – Lochmaben, 1304

After my humbling, public submission to King Edward, the reprieve, oddly enough, was a pleasant one. In the mornings, when I was not away on the king’s business as sheriff of Lanarkshire, Elizabeth woke me with sweet kisses and soft words. When I came home, she greeted me with her slender arms flung fiercely about my neck. At night, she gave me endless comfort and delight.

There was some reward in swallowing my pride... ecstasy even. But still, deep inside, I could not stomach the cost of it.

Meanwhile, my father had remained firmly ensconced on his English estates in Essex and Huntingdon, weaseling his way back into favor in any fashion he could: sending Longshanks gifts, issuing public proclamations of his agreement with every policy the king spewed out, supporting him with whatever troops his restricted funds could bear. Aside from a handful of carping letters that had found their way to my headquarters in Ayr, my father and I had not spoken in nearly seven years. But when I received word from my brother Edward that my father had returned to Lochmaben in Annandale and was mortally ill, I bowed to a son’s duty, however difficult or unwelcome, and went.

It was late when I arrived at Lochmaben. The residence, lately refortified by Master James, had been recently returned to my family’s possessions – a token of the faith I had gained from Longshanks himself. Mary, the sister who always put a smile on my lips, however weary or heavy of heart I was, greeted me in the dimly lit hall.

“Mary?” I put my hands on her shoulders and gazed at her long before I embraced her. “What happened to that frail wisp of a girl I knew?”

“I’m nineteen, Robbie. Hardly a girl anymore. I’ve a husband now, mind you,” she said, referring to Neil Campbell, whom she had wed this past year while I was about on Longshanks’ never-ending business. She kissed me sweetly on the cheek and pulled her wrap snug around her upper body. “And not at all frail.”

“Aye, hardly a girl. I shall have to post a guard outside your door to keep the men away when your husband’s not about.”

As I embraced her, I heard the rushes on the floor rustle and peered through the half-darkness to see my sister Christina. Her jet-black hair swung loose at her back. Her high-belted gown was modestly cut, but of a deep red that drew attention to her dark hair, eyes and long lashes. I drew her into my arms and saw a few steps behind her a young man of about her age, who was obviously captivated by her every movement.

I whispered into her ear, “Would this be the proper time to express my condolences on the loss of your husband last year?” Christina had been married to the Earl of Mar, who had died young, but like so many marriages, it had been a contract meant to weave alliances, little more.

“A hunting accident.

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