The Price of Freedom by Carol Umberger Page B

Kathryn, he’d never been tempted, so there’d been no need. Now, saints help him, Robert the Bruce had placed temptation squarely in Bryan’s path.
    Angrily, he cursed his king and the sky above for handing him such provocation—honeyed tresses, gold-flecked brown eyes, and a feminine form that made him long for the intimacies of marriage.
    Obviously Kathryn didn’t want him. Fine. He didn’t need a woman to complicate his life. And Kathryn would surely disturb his ordered existence—she’d already disturbed him more than he’d thought possible.
    Robert would understand—Bryan would explain everything. He wasn’t sure it would do any good, but he had to try. Aye, he’d explain how he couldn’t marry such a beautiful, wealthy, exciting woman, if he could just find a way to put it into words.
    He spurred Cerin on and arrived at the hideout just before evening. Thomas took the horse and, knowing the animal would be well cared for, Bryan strode toward the tent where the king’s standard blew lazily in the breeze.
    Not surprisingly, the king met him at the tent’s entrance and invited him in. Bruce clapped Bryan on the shoulder. “Come in, join us. Ceallach is here.”
    Bryan entered, knowing his discussion would have to wait until the other man left. He nodded to Ceallach and took a seat at the table. The open cask of wine and half-empty chalices indicated a celebration in progress.
    â€œWhat news, my laird?” Bryan had left the main force to take Homelea and despite his need to resolve his problem with Kathryn, now hungered for a report on how Bruce’s army had fared during his absence. He poured himself some water as Ceallach said, “Perth has fallen.”
    Bryan’s instincts as a soldier overcame his personal needs. “You had the town surrounded when I left—no access in or out!” he said incredulously. Bruce had no artillery or siege weapons to batter down the walls. And many of his troops were highlanders such as himself who didn’t take well to static warfare. “How did you get inside?”
    Bruce grinned. Even the taciturn Ceallach smiled, and Bryan knew he was going to regret not being part of this particular adventure.
    Ceallach continued. “Actually, Bruce ordered us to retreat and we packed up and marched away. You’ll recall the heavy woods two miles off?”
    Bryan nodded, eager to hear the rest.
    â€œWe hid there and constructed rope ladders to scale the ramparts. We spent eight days there in the woods to allow the garrison at Perth to let down their guard. Then on a pitch-dark night we sneaked back to the edge of the moat. The king himself crept through the icy water, testing the depth with his spear until he crossed to the other side. The rest of us followed, climbed the ropes, and took the town by surprise!”
    â€œWell done!” Bryan exclaimed.
    â€œThat’s not all,” Bruce added. “In addition to Homelea, the castles of Buittle and Caerlavrock are now ours as well. All that remains is Stirling.”
    At mention of this great fortress the mood of all three men dampened somewhat. No one wanted to mention the impossible agreement Bruce’s brother had made with the commander there. The Scots had learned their lesson early on at Methven that England’s superior numbers and armament would triumph on a traditional battlefield. When Bruce observed that spider in the cave at Carrick, he’d devised the strategy he’d used for the next seven years. Bruce had waged war against the English, on his terms—fighting in small skirmishes, with strategic targets, and using the lay of the land to their advantage.
    Then last April Robert had sent his brother Edward—always an impatient and hotheaded warrior—to lay siege to the impregnable fortress at Stirling. After three months Edward, bored with the static nature of a siege, had made a foolish bargain with Sir