Insurrection

Insurrection by Robyn Young Page B

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Authors: Robyn Young
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first husband had been a knight who died on crusade when she was pregnant. The knight’s comrade-in-arms, Sir Robert Bruce, had returned from the Holy Land to tell the widowed countess what had happened and the two had grown close. Within a few short months they married in haste, without securing the permission of King Alexander, who in his anger removed them both of their lands. It was only through the intervention of the Lord of Annandale that the dispute was smoothed over and Robert’s father was allowed to acquire Carrick by right of his new wife.
    ‘Ede did deliver you, or at least she tried. You were dying inside me, Robert.’ Her eyes had grown bright in the candlelight. ‘The labour was going on too long. Affraig lived in the village then. She was well known for her skills as a healer. She saved your life. And mine.’
    Robert knew there was more to the story. Other questions crowded in. Why had his parents never mentioned this, even after Alexander had been bitten by one of her dogs? And why had the woman seemed so angry? Don’t come here again , she had said. You, or any of your family. Robert glanced round, hearing footsteps along the passage. His mother didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘Why did she leave the village?’ he asked quickly. ‘Why did she go into the hills?’
    ‘She was banished,’ answered his mother hesitantly. ‘Your father—’ She stopped abruptly, hearing the footfalls. Her cheeks stained. ‘Back to bed with you, Robert,’ she ordered, her voice unnaturally loud.
    Hearing the door open behind him, Robert turned to see his father’s pensive face.
    The earl scowled and pulled the door wider. ‘Leave.’
    Robert went to go, then felt his mother’s cool hand on his.
    She leaned forward, laying a soft kiss by the wound on his brow. ‘No more talk of it now,’ she breathed into his ear, while her husband shrugged off his fur-lined robe and hung it on a clothes perch.
    Robert headed from the room, glancing at his father, who had sat on a stool to remove his boot. The earl’s face was wan in the candlelight. Robert wondered what had happened in Galloway. He longed to go and see his grandfather and find out, but it was late, his wounds were tormenting him and he had too many other questions to fit more answers in his head.
     
    Marjorie watched her son limp from the chamber. Her husband, rubbing at his foot, chafed by his boot, didn’t look up. He could be so loving. Couldn’t he show just a little of that to the boy? He had always told her he didn’t want his heir growing up soft and that was why he was hard on him, but Marjorie knew that wasn’t the real truth of it.
    ‘What is it?’
    Realising she had been caught staring at him, she forced a smile. ‘I am just tired.’ She frowned as he eased his boot back on with a wince. ‘Aren’t you coming to bed?’
    ‘In a moment,’ he said, crossing to her.
    Marjorie rested her head against the pillow. She closed her eyes as he kissed her. She wasn’t tired, she was exhausted. The labour had drained what felt like the last of her youth. Ten children was a lot for any woman to bear.
    ‘Get some rest.’
    She felt the bed shift as his hand left it, heard him moving about the room, pouring a goblet of wine, opening a chest. She began to drift towards sleep, the familiar sounds of her husband soothing after so many months alone. A little while later, she heard a rap at the door. Marjorie came awake, worried Robert had returned with more questions. The boy had no idea how angry his father would be if he knew he had been in Affraig’s house. But it wasn’t her son. It was one of her husband’s retainers. She watched the earl give the man a purse. In his other hand, her husband held a rolled piece of parchment.
    ‘There is enough here to buy you passage to France and back. Be careful.’
    ‘Do not fear, my lord,’ said the man, taking the purse and stuffing it inside a pouch fixed to his belt beside his broadsword. ‘I’ll get

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