Night wrapped the forest, but it was never silent. Limbs of the trees creaked in the wind, the brush whispered as something scuttled into hiding, and a pair of owls hooted to each other. I crouch-walked gently through the leaf litter underfoot, a shadow wrapped in shadow.
Light from a campfire glinted between the boles of the trees. As I neared, the men’s voices mixed with the sound of the forest. Despite being unable to make out their words, they sounded relaxed and at ease. One laughed loudly, and the others joined in.
I smiled with relief. They still did not know they were being tracked.
We had tracked them for some time as the sun sank below the horizon. But they were easy to follow, making no attempt to hide their passing. I had feared we might miss the path where they left the road, but just as darkness fell, Colban spotted trampled bracken from their passing, leaving a clear trail into the woods.
Will, Colban, and Symon spread out to await a sign to attack as I sneaked to the far side of the enemy camp. The men had settled well off the road in a clearing large enough for their horses to be tied. It would be safer to get ahead and ambush them. I remembered my chat with Symon’s father over a mug of cider. The man was merely a tavernkeeper, not important on the scale of a kingdom. But he had been an honest man who deserved justice. So did the stranger, who had been no threat to them or their king.
Creeping from bole to bole, I moved closer to the camp, certain they had set a watch. One of their mounts stomped a hoof and snorted, so I stilled and pressed close to the tree trunk of a gigantic oak. A deep breath to steady my pulse carried the sharp scent of the oaks overlaid with smoke from the campfire.
Five sat around the fire, one regaling with the virtues of a bawd he had tupped down in Carlisle. Another threw a piece of wood onto the fire, making it flare up and throwing its light onto the others. Two were already wrapped in their cloaks, asleep on the ground, but one was standing sentry near the hobbled mounts. The fool was looking toward the fire. That would make him night-blind.
I stifled a laugh and crept around the clearing until I was behind the man on watch. I reached the last tree only two steps from his back and stopped, drawing my dirk. Another of the Englishmen pulled his cloak close and stretched out. One gave a huge yawn and leaned forward, staring into the crackling fire. The remaining men exchanged comments, sounding weary, although I could not make out the words.
I crouched there for a long time and watched their fire die to embers. Their muttering blended with the forest’s night sounds and the fire’s crackle. My leg cramped, and I shifted to loosen it.
The wind whistled through the branches. There was a snorting snore. A sleepy chuckle as two others gave in to exhaustion and stretched out on the ground. The last Englishman nodded sleepily even though he still sat poking the embers with a stick.
It was time. I sprang and clamped a hand over the watch’s mouth and dragged him backward as I plunged my dirk into the side of his throat. He flailed and kicked in my grasp. A gurgling sound emerged from his severed windpipe. He was as good as dead. I jerked the dirk forward and out. Blood geysered, spraying onto one of the horses. It jibbed and snorted.
Letting go of his mouth, I dragged him behind the tree. His kicks flung leaf litter into the air.
One of the men was on his feet now. “Osbert, what the bloody hell are you doing?”
“God’s toenails!” I growled through gritted teeth. This was not going as planned. I was out of time, so I dropped him to the ground. Cupping my blood-sticky hands around my mouth, I bellowed, “Now!”
An arrow bounced off the standing man’s mail-clad back, but a second went through his neck. The others jumped to their feet, shouting and scrambling for a weapon. Arrows thudded as they hit. We were not Welsh longbowmen, but our bows could still kill. With my dirk, I hacked through the reins of the line where the horses were tied, stretched between two trees. The mounts were already snorting and stamping, excited by the shouts and reek of blood in the air. I grabbed one’s reins and jumped onto its back, shouting, “Douglas! Douglas!” I wheeled and bound away. The rest of the horses scattered, whinnying, rearing, and snorting. I whacked another on the rear as I passed. It gathered its haunches to spring to a run into the night. One of the English grabbed my reins and got kicked for his pain before an arrow through his leg made him scream. He dropped to his knees. Weight on my heels and moving with the horse’s stride, I urged it to a gallop around the old oak and into the black night. No horse likes to gallop blind, so we slowed as I circled the chaos in the camp and to the road. Crashing through the undergrowth, I did not care how much noise I made. Soon, I changed directions and raced toward the road where our horses were tied.
Will was already mounted as Colban and Symon scrambled onto their mounts. I grabbed the other pommel, switched mounts, and led the new mount that would be our only reward for the night’s work. “We bought us some time, so let’s use it,” I exclaimed and clapped my heels to my horse’s flanks. We rode at a fast walk, not daring to gallop and chance one of our horses putting a foot in a hole.
“We killed two of them. Mayhap three,” Symon called out.
Colban replied, “I put an arrow through a fourth. Got him in the shoulder.”
It would take to gather their remaining, scattered mounts, and it was unlikely the injured men would be able to ride. They would almost certainly have to leave them behind if they tried to pursue us, and they could not know which way we had fled. The waning crescent moon peeked through scattered clouds, throwing only a little light, the branches making dancing silhouettes.
We reached a small burn that splashed beneath a wooden bridge and disappeared into the forest. “This way.” I rode into the icy water that barely covered our horses’ hocks. We had to go slowly, but there was no way could the English men-at-arms track us through the water. The trees grew tall and thick on each side of the burn, their branches intertwined. The only noise was the wind shaking the branches and the splash of our horses’ hooves.
My hands were stiff with dried blood. The odor curdled my stomach. After a while, my horse stumbled, its stride slow. Our horses had only had a few brief rests and had been ridden all day into the night. We dare not push them so hard that they foundered.
“We needs to find someplace to rest.” Colban’s voice dragged. “We must have thrown them off our trail by now.”
“If they followed at all.” We had hit them hard enough that I judged it unlikely, but if they had followed, they would be far behind. I pulled up and scrubbed my hands together, and flakes of dried blood scattered.
Will pointed ahead. “It looks like the trees are thinner there.”
We rode beneath the forest’s dense canopy, but some of the moon’s silver light filtered through the clouds and bare branches onto a flat spot next to a fallen oak.
I threw my leg over and slid from the saddle. “This will do.” I was not looking forward to a cold camp. We tied our horses to branches of the oak and unsaddled them where there was some sedge they could crop. Symon shared out some cheese he had in his pack.
Will stood, stretching out his back. “I will take the first watch.”
I propped my back against the bole of a tree and closed my eyes, recalling riding through this forest with Sir William. I remembered sitting beside him as we waited for deer to show themselves. He had put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. We sat in companionable silence with his men keeping guard around us. The man of those memories was almost a father, caring and wise. I sometimes could not reconcile him with the man who starved Will’s cousin to death, but I could not help the fondness he held for him—whatever else he had done.
“Sir William liked to hunt near here. You remember, Colban?” I rolled my head, stretching tight muscles from the long ride and the tension.
Colban did not answer. After a moment, I looked at him and stifled a chuckle. His head lolled to the side, mouth open, his breath not quite a snore. Symon had curled up on the ground and was fast asleep as well. Around us in the dark, the forest whispered and rustled. In the distance, an owl hooted. I rested my hand on my hilt and closed my eyes, not to sleep but to plan our next move.
We would have to cut through the forest, avoiding the road to ensure the English we had attacked did not pick up our trail, but where to? I wanted to talk to Ingelram. His steading might be a good place for his weapons and mounts. We could give him enough coin to pay his wool tax for the aid. Colban’s cousin had said he would join us once his family was fixed with supplies for the winter, so we needed to go there. I wanted to sneak Symon back into Roxburgh, where he could spy on the castle until he was needed. If he could learn when a convoy of supplies was expected, a more productive ambush might be possible. All those were well and good but would not push the English out of Lothian.
I opened my eyes and watched the swaying branches silhouetted by the faint moonlight, chewing my bottom lip. An owl glided silently through the trees, a pale ghost in the dark. I needed to find out where my cousin Hugh was since the English had seized his kirk. He would know why William, now the Lord of Douglas, had not returned from France so long after all the rest of us had. He was six or seven years older than I was. He had long been old enough to manage his own lands, yet he lingered in France. Sir William had acted as his guardian, protecting his lands but also taking parts for himself. Now the Douglas lands were being seized by the English, and he was not here to defend them. Try as I might, I could not puzzle it out.