He swung round as Clifford, red-faced and hoarse with shouting, galloped up to him, flinging one hand behind him. Lifting the fancy visor of his new bascinet, Beaumont squinted; there were more men coming out of the woods, spears up and hedged.
Bruce sat and watched the three riders crash to ruin; Jamie Douglas gave an admiring shout as they did so, even as he shook his head at the futility of it. He had uncowled himself from maille and bascinet so that his tousled dark hair stood up in sweat-spikes and his face was bright with joy.
He loves all this, Bruce thought as he massaged the ache of his right hand, pulling off gauntlet and maille mitt to study it; he carefully wiggled his fingers and noted the signs of blue bruising, mottled and ugly. Count the blessings of Heaven, he thought wryly, at least you can still feel all your fingers. And toes.
‘Do you wish me to go to the Earl of Moray’s aid?’
The tone was bland but the question was as loaded as any latchbow; when Bruce turned, Jamie Douglas had a face and smile as innocent as a nun’s headscarf.
‘Let my nephew bide a wee,’ Bruce answered laconically. ‘He seems to have matters in hand.’
And if you go to his aid, Jamie Douglas, he thought, it will only be to preen and wave the rescue of it at Randolph for the rest of his life, so that he will not forgive either you or me.
They watched while the horsemen rode up in ragged skeins and then balked and circled. One dashed in and the horse went down – men cheered as the rider was clearly pounced on by the dirkmen and sent, as Patrick announced cheerfully, ‘all the way tae his ain Hell’.
Other horses were downed, but the riders weaved and staggered away, half walking, half falling. Eventually, as if tiring of the entertainment, Bruce turned back to Jamie Douglas.
‘Move your men to the line of the wood. No farther, Sir James, upon your honour.’
Jamie pouted, but then grinned, for he knew what his king was up to and he turned to the waiting men, winking at Dog Boy.
‘Rank up, lads. Make some noise, too, just to let the bloody English ken who we are.’
They marched out, shouting and singing as if it was a parade of apprentices on the spree – but, as Bruce had planned, the English saw reinforcements arriving. There was a flurry among them, the distant faintness of shouting and then a horn blew.
Bruce sat deeper in his saddle, suddenly aware of the tension leaking out of him like grain from a burst bag; his arm and hand pulsed with a vicious heartbeat. He heard horsemen and turned to see his brother ride up, grinning like a shark out of his broad face and waving vaguely at the sky.
‘The sun is going down,’ he declared as if he had been personally responsible for it. ‘They will try no more until the morn.’
Bruce nodded and sucked in a long, deep breath; below, Randolph’s schiltron was uncurling like a cautious hedgepig, waving their sharpness and hurling jeers at the backs of the retreating knights.
The day had gone well, Bruce thought. Yet tomorrow it would all have to be done again – or else tonight we will have to be gone. And smartly, too, since it is the shortest night of the year.
He wondered, suddenly, why his brother was here at all and not with his own command, turned to ask and saw the broad grin widen further as Edward nudged his horse aside to reveal the men he had been hiding.
Bruce stared. Kirkpatrick was dappled with sweat and leaning wearily on the cantle of his mount’s saddle. Beside him, with a great half-bruised face and a bound arm, swaying with fatigue but grim and steady as ever, sat Hal of Herdmanston. Behind them prowled a slew of Campbells, all bristle-bearded and proud, but scowling to have arrived too late for this day’s fighting.
His brace of dogs returned. He blurted it out before he could think and saw Hal’s raised eyebrow and Kirkpatrick’s lopsided smile.
‘Aye, betimes,’ Kirkpatrick answered, ‘with our jaws stuffed with retrievals.’
‘There are cartloads coming,’ Edward Bruce declared, unable to keep silent any longer. ‘Weapons and armour and more of the same.’
His face was shining with it as he stared at his regal brother.
‘Now we can stand and fight.’
ISABEL