Chapter Twenty

 

 

Duncan’s forces arrived at Stirling, joining men from all over Scotland. In good cheer, men roasted a boar. Duncan stood with Grant, recalling the battle they’d fought here side by side in 1297. History revisited. Could they win again?

As anticipated, Edward wasn’t long in coming. The brilliant scarlet standards with golden leopard had been visible a league away. Duncan and Grant stood on the battlements looking down at sheer chaos. For a sennight they watched tents being erected and the valley filled with wagons and horses, heavy horse of war, hobelars, siege engines and carts carrying huge boulders.

When the Scots refused to surrender, the mighty engines began pounding away at the ancient fortress. Exactly as Catherine had seen in her dream.

Duncan rubbed his neck in exhaustion. “By the saints, I tire.”

Grant nodded. “Aye, I have not slept since they arrived. How can anyone sleep with those bloody siege engines pounding away every day? The whole castle reverberates with constant slamming—twelve monsters at last count.”

There was little to do but endure. They slept in shifts, deep in the caves under Sterling Castle. Only a small respite from the endless pounding.

Still, few found peace as each day their situation worsened.

~ * ~

Catherine sat beneath the huge copper beech tree. She was tired, having not slept well the past few nights. Strange images had interrupted her sleep and she’d been afraid to drift off again. She’d sit and rest awhile before going back inside the Hall.

A strange lightness enveloped her. She felt herself drifting. She saw the ground below, clouds above. Dearest God, what’s happening? Where am I? Suddenly she saw Duncan. Was he home? Nay, he was climbing up to the allure of a castle she’d never seen, and there was Ian.

“Duncan…Ian,” she cried out, “what are you doing here? Where are we?”

They didn’t hear. Instead, Ian surveyed his long-time friend and frowned. “Have you eaten this day? You look horrible.”

“As do you,” Duncan quipped. Pausing, he seemed to be thinking.

Catherine worried. Had he eaten? He looked so tired.

“The last meal I actually remember was the roasted boar we had before the English arrived. When we still foolishly thought this battle would be over in no time.”

Catherine eased closer. She needed to make certain he ate. Silly man. It was just like him to think of everyone else before himself. “Duncan, come with me. Let us find the kitchen. You must eat.” They didn’t appear to hear her.

“By Saint Ninian’s knees,” Ian drew Catherine’s attention to the crenellations. He watched as Longshanks approached on his daily ride to survey the walls, making certain to stay out of reach of any arrows. “The man is in his sixties, yet rides here daily to harass us.”

Slender, almost bony in appearance, the king’s height was accentuated by his long legs. Edward’s snowy mane of white hair blew behind him in the breeze. He wore his scarlet surcoat over his armour, three golden leopards upon his chest.

Someone catapulted a large stone down toward the king, causing his horse to throw him. Uninjured, he rose and brushed the dirt from his clothes before remounting his steed. Angus grumbled, “What will it take to kill him? Again the devil walks away unscathed, rubbing our noses in the fact he has us trapped.”

Catherine watched the arrogant king and wondered how she ever could have thought him in the right. How could he abuse and provoke so many people? He didn’t really want Scotland. Certainly didn’t need it. He just wanted the feel of them under his thumb, wanted to grind them into the earth until they begged his mercy. Didn’t he understand these Scots wouldn’t do that?

Grant stepped behind Duncan. Peering over the ledge, he groused, “Look at that devil. ‘Tis his daily tweaking of our noses. Well, I for one have had enough.” Reaching behind him, he grabbed an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. He raised his bow arm, drew back the string until his thumb was against his jawbone and his index finger almost touched the corner of his mouth, just as his father taught him when a wee lad.

Catherine saw what he meant to do. “Nay!” she screamed, placing her hand on Duncan’s arm. “Duncan, stop him! Know you not Edward will only make things harder for you?” Why didn’t he pay attention? Why didn’t they listen to her? It was as if they didn’t even hear her.

Taking a breath, Grant aimed and released the arrow, aiming for Longshanks. He let out a shout when it went through Edward’s surcoat and lodged into his saddle. “Fires of the deepest hell, I missed.”

Furious, Longshanks reined his horse back, releasing a string of expletives as he grabbed his leg. He looked up toward the battlements and shook his fist. “You shall pay for this, you heathens. You shall rot in hell before I let you escape. You just sealed your doom! I shall see you gutted and hanged.”

Grant turned to Duncan, his face somber. “Och, it felt so good to do it, to release that arrow, but I fear I have cast our fate. Longshanks will raise the dragon standard now, see us all fodder for ravens.”

Duncan sighed. “You think we weren’t before?”

Catherine sobbed. “Oh Duncan. My love. I tried to warn you. Tried to stop you. Why would you not hear?”

The men turned to walk away. “Duncan!” she shouted. “Do not leave me here alone. Why won’t you...?” Dear God, nay! They really do not see me. They cannot hear me. They...I...dearest God in Heaven, what is happening?

Catherine screamed, the sound waking her in the garden. She was still safe at home. If she was here, how had she seen Duncan? How had she…?

Weapon drawn, Alex squatted beside her.

“Alex!” she sobbed. “I saw Duncan…at some strange castle…”

“’Twas just a dream, my lady,” Alex soothed, helping her rise. “I am sure our men fare well.”

~ * ~

Over several moon’s Duncan survived while Scotland’s great castle was bombarded by siege engines of war. The English stripped lead from nearby kirk roofs, melting it down to round balls. They flung them from the trebuchet along with large boulders. Oftentimes, pots that were lit and flung at the castle exploded on impact.

Duncan and fellow Scots valiantly fought back, but grew weaker every day from lack of food and sleep. He only hoped he’d be blessed enough to return home in one piece. He’d promised Catherine, after all.

All I want is to be back with Catherine and Meggie. His mind was fogged by exhaustion. No food. No sleep. At this point I might even be willing to see Father again. They’d wasted so much time arguing and hating each other—to what end? He could die any day now, and hating his father didn’t seem to matter as much anymore. It hadn’t changed anything, had nearly cost him Catherine’s love.

Longshanks returned daily, taunting, always staying just out of reach. Grant stood on the boulevard and watched the pageantry. “I told you we were dead. Longshanks’ banneret flies the dragon standard, Edward’s way of saying he gives us no quarter. He flew the same dread pennant before he sacked Berwick and before he let loose his dogs of war, putting nearly all to death—including Father.”

Heartsick with worry, Catherine stood on the walkway atop Cray Hall, staring at the horizon. She blinked as the stinging wind brought tears to her eyes. Duncan, where are you? Why haven’t you yet returned? You promised.

A strange feeling overtook her. Lightheaded, once again she saw Duncan and Grant as clearly as if she were with them. “No, this cannot be happening again. God, help me! Why am I having these visions? Heavenly Father…why are You letting me see this?”

Grant bemoaned, “We lose ground every day. Och, no.” He pointed to a barrel of oil. “They try to breach the curtain. Someone help me heat that.”

“Aye,” Duncan agreed, “and where is the molten lead others worked on earlier? Pour that down the machicolations.”

Screams resounded as Englishmen were burned by the heated lead. Catherine leaned to peer through the crenellations, aghast at the carnage she saw below.

Bolstered by sounds of agony, Scots ran outside to fight the English garrison.

“Nay!” Catherine shouted. “Do not go outside the wall.” They paid her no heed. Why did they ignore her? Why could no one hear her? Why did God show her this yet not let her help?

A shiver of dread coursed down her spine and her hand flew to her mouth. Nay! her mind screamed. Duncan was in trouble. Shouts from the battlement warned him to return. He needed her. She felt it, felt him. Tears streaming down her face, she reached her hand out and cried, “Duncan!”

Duncan paused, dizzy from exhaustion. He looked out over the horizon. Blinking disbelief, he saw Catherine in the distance. If he died here, would she ever forgive him? Ever believe he loved her true? She stretched out her hand to him and relief poured through him. Duncan reached for her...just a few more steps and he’d be with her. “Do not cry, Mo Cridhe.” Two more steps. “I told you I would return.” One more step. Mayhap if he leaned forward…

Grant grabbed him, looked at Duncan in shock. “Man, are you daft? You nearly fell through the crenellation.”

Duncan stared at Grant in shock, looked around at his surroundings. He still stood on Stirling Castle’s boulevard of the battlement. The hated English were below hammering away at the castle. But he’d seen Catherine. She’d been real. He turned to Grant and placed his hand on his friend’s arm. “I saw Catherine. I vow, she was reaching toward me. She called to me.” He slammed his hand into the wall. “By Saint Ninian’s teeth, have I begun hallucinating?”

Grant rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You think I do not dream of Tory? She is with me every breath I take.”

Shaken, Duncan turned from his friend, walked down the steps and into the castle. He had to get some rest if he was to return home. Had Grant not been with him, he would have fallen to his death. He smiled ruefully. At least the English would have been deprived the joy of killing him. He headed into one of the castle caves, exhausted, hungry, yearning for home. He wondered how long this battle would continue. With little food, they couldn’t hold out much longer.

~ * ~

Duncan sighed and leaned against the castle wall. “Why are we doing this when the Comyns and Bruce have sold out? We have been here nigh unto four full moons. I want to see my lady wife. The rest of Scotland goes home to their families.”

Later Grant sat beside Duncan and whispered, “The food has run out.”

Duncan snapped, “Do you not think my stomach rubbing against my backbone already knows that?” As Grant’s eyes widened in surprise, Duncan caught himself. “Sorry, my friend. I did not mean to shout. ‘Tis I worry I shall die on this rock and never see Cat again, never have the chance to tell her I am sorry for being such a fool, never get to tell her... I love her more than life.”

Grant bemoaned, “I fear the same.”

“And for what?” A sob caught in Duncan’s throat, at the end of his tether. They’d nearly run out of water. He was so thirsty his voice cracked and came out a hoarse croak. “Why are we still here?”

When their commander made his rounds, Duncan stopped Oliphant and demanded, “William, why are we here instead of home with our loved ones? Every noble in Scotland has gone unto Edward’s peace. They care less that the few of us who survive are dying bit by bit each day. We started with seven score men and have only sixty left. We have no food, little water. We shall die, whether from starvation or from an enemy arrow. All we have accomplished is to give the Comyns time to broker a better deal with Longshanks for Scottish nobles. They shall get money and lands while we defenders of Stirling slowly die. Only Wallace still holds out. ‘Tis time to end it, my friend. Whether we admit it or not, we have lost.” Murmurs of agreement spread throughout the battlements.

The time had come for surrender. The following morn Oliphant sent word to Edward. “We surrender if we are granted our lives.” Duncan joined men gathered at the wall to wait for word. The end was near. Dear God, please forgive me for not talking with You more. Do not hold that against my loved ones. No matter what happens, please let Catherine realize I love her.

When word came, a wave of horror swept through the tattered warriors. Edward refused, wanting an unconditional surrender. Duncan groaned, “I am not shocked with Edward Longshanks’ ruthlessness. The sack of Berwick lives forever in my mind. This is no different.”

Sinking to the ground, Oliphant said, “Longshanks asked me at the beginning to surrender. I refused. This is his way of paying me back.” He turned to those gathered. Most barely had enough strength to sit and lean against the castle wall. “I am sorry. I thought we would win. My error in judgment cost us dearly. We are no match for whatever Edward plans to throw at us on the morrow.”

 

The next morn Edward had one final horror to unleash.

Catherine tossed and turned, alone in her large bed, afraid to fall asleep for fear she’d again see what was happening at Stirling. Every time she drifted off, she saw Duncan and the war. She’d finally quit telling Duncan’s men for fear they’d think her daft. Mayhap she was. Who in their right mind watched her husband fight a battle daily? Saw him wounded, hungry, tired, and could do nothing about it. Strained to the point of exhaustion, Catherine surrendered to sleep.

The English garrison brought forward the Warwolf while Edward laughed and raised his arm. “Defend yourselves from us as best you can.” He lowered his arm to begin the onslaught, a vicious act of carnage.

Sweat running down her face, Catherine screamed. This was the monster she’d warned Duncan about! She had to save him.

Standing on the ramparts, Duncan and his fellow warriors stared in shock at the fifty foot beast that stood before them with its huge counterweight and mighty beam.

They banded together to fight—or die.

“Nay, my heart, do not think that.” Catherine willed her thoughts to Duncan. “Come back to me. Come back...”

Boulder after boulder pummeled the castle. Screams of pain were heard as large chunks of wall broke off and slammed into them. To a man, the Scots, battered and wounded, battled on and on.

Catherine saw Angus fall to the ground, blood streaming down his leg. Where were the others? On the other side of the castle? Safe in the caves?

A boulder crashed through the wall where Duncan and Grant stood.

Catherine screamed! Shot up in bed, the linens twisted around her. Duncan! Dear Father Almighty. Name of all names. Prince of Peace, please protect Duncan, bring him home safely.

~ * ~

Duncan held his breath as Oliphant again offered their surrender to Edward, the bloodthirsty man finally accepting. Despite previous threats, he didn’t kill remaining survivors. Obviously thinking the thirty men too weak to fight further, he proved lenient. Even more to Duncan’s surprise, the only person Longshanks ordered seized, made prisoner, and taken to the Tower of London was Oliphant.

Untrusting of Edward’s peace, the Scots seized the opportunity and slipped into the dark of night. Starving, exhausted, and injured, bone chilling rain poured down on them as they struggled to climb hills that would lead them away from Longshanks and home to their loved ones. Warm tears filled Duncan’s eyes, mixing with the icy rain as he looked to the heavens, wondering if they’d escape. Is this one of Edward’s cruel jests that we fight our way to the top only to find the English soldiery waiting there? His chest fell in relief when no one awaited them. The night nearly spent, he staggered to the safety of nearby trees, just barely remembering to stay in the shadows.

Hearing his name whispered, he turned and saw Grant several yards away, limping, but making his way toward him. Ready to drop where they stood, the two men couldn’t help but move toward each other. They gripped hands in a handshake and clapped each other on the back, squeezing each other tightly. Both laughing and crying.

They’d survived. Acknowledged God spared them. After giving thanks to their heavenly Father, they moved through the hills to avoid detection. One by one they located other survivors.

Grant heard sounds of the English searching for them, so he pressed everyone, “Hide in that nearby cave.” He and Duncan dragged branches in front of the entrance, requiring every ounce of their failing strength. Safely hidden, they collapsed on the ground, silently praying for God’s cloak of protection.

The next day they found Angus near a burn trying to fetch a drink of water. Duncan and Grant treated Angus’ injuries. “Och, not only did the bone break when part of the castle wall catapulted into his thigh,” Duncan groaned, “a jagged edge gashed through the skin.” He turned to Ian and Grant. “Hold him whilst I reset the bone.” He looked down at Angus, mumbling, “Forgive me, friend,” then slammed his fist into Angus’ chin. Two days later, it was a sad parting when Grant and Ian broke off to head east toward Drummond Castle. “Good bye, my friend,” Duncan said before he and Angus proceeded north toward Cray Hall.

Though limping and in excruciating pain, the elderly man tried to keep pace with Duncan. He’d refused to let Duncan carry him on a litter of twigs tied with vines. To elude recapture, they laid low during the day and traveled only by moon’s light. Duncan’s legs nearly gave out when he finally sighted Cray Hall’s stronghold. He stood shaking, barely able to go on. Home. He was home. Suddenly, people streamed out the gate, crying their greetings. His eyes hungrily searched them looking for Catherine. He was glad when Alex rushed over to relieve him of Angus’ weight. Others helped them inside the stone walls.

Everyone rushed up, patting him on the back and hugging him, dozens asking questions all at once. Still, he sought Catherine. He’d seen her beautiful face many times. It was her vision that had kept him going.

“Duncan! Thank the Blessed Lord, you are alive!” Tears of joy streamed down her face as she rushed headlong into his arms. She kept kissing his face and wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing hard.

When he winced in pain, she stepped back, taking in his appearance, seeing the chest she just hugged was hardly that of the man who’d left her in April.

Then her soft eyes shifted to notice men gingerly helping Angus to a chair.

“You have been gone so long,” she whispered, a quaver in her voice. Catherine glanced around the Hall, question lighting her face, then fear when she realized only Angus was there of the men that left with him. She took Duncan’s arm and helped him to a chair. Shame filled him as he could hardly sit in it. Holding the chair’s arms, he settled into it heavily.

“Duncan? Are the injured outside?” The question turned to fear as she glanced toward the main door. Her eyes shot back and she whispered, “My dream. ‘Twas right was it not?”

“No one else survived,” he admitted sadly, leaning heavily against the table. “We lost Stirling.”

Behind him, men groaned and women wailed.

Too tired to move, he turned to Alex. “Praise the saints most of you remained to guard our land.” He tried to catch his breath, but it hurt to breathe. “We must send word to Castle Glenshee. MacThomaidh must be told our men perished.”

“Grant?” Catherine squeaked. He knew she was terrified to hear the answer.

“Injured,” he told her weakly. “He and Ian survived. All else perished.”

He looked around the room at those gathered. “Once again, Clans MacThomas and Drummond sacrificed their life and breath to Scotland’s cause. I know not why God spared us, but I have given him thanks repeatedly since we escaped.”

Tears streamed down Catherine’s face. The stress more than she could handle, she looked ready to pass out.

Duncan caught Alex’s eye and nodded toward her. He was so weary he couldn’t move. Aw God, he prayed, I know I do not talk to You as often as I should. Thank You for hearing my prayers and bringing me back to my Cat.

Alex rushed to her and quickly lowered his lady to a chair.

She roused herself from her anguish. “Nay, do not worry about me. Just care for Duncan and Angus.”

She turned to face Duncan, but directed her words to Alex. “Take my husband to our chamber. I shall tend him there.” She turned toward Angus. “Take Angus to—”

“See to Duncan, kind lady. Angus shall be well cared for,” Dohmnall assured her.

Duncan leaned heavily on Alex and Colin. Fearing his wounds had festered, the image of Andrew de Moray sprang to mind. Would he die now as Andrew had, cut down in the prime of his life? If he did, would Catherine leave and remarry? The thought of her in someone else’s arms wasn’t a thought he liked.

Duncan’s throat worked to swallow the pain. Had he fought his way home, just to lose it all?