The Arrow Read online

  The castle had been partially destroyed by floods about a hundred years ago but rebuilt by King William the Lion. Less than ten years ago, the city had been fortified with stone walls, towers, and gates by Edward of England after he’d taken the city during Wallace’s rebellions.

  The wall was how she’d guessed that they’d reached their destination, as the party of riders drew up on the crest of the last hill. She’d never seen anything like it. The massive stone fortification that surrounded the city shimmered like golden alabaster in the dawn’s first light. Surrounded on three sides by a lade—the wet ditch was the town’s only previous defense—the east side butted up against the natural defense of the Tay. Seeing those daunting walls—and knowing that she would soon be imprisoned behind them—gave her a moment’s pause.

  Cate looked at the men who were sitting on their horses discussing something among themselves, paying her little mind, and glanced over her shoulder at the wide expanse of forest just beyond the next hill. If she were going to try to escape, this would be her last chance. But she couldn’t. Not with the opportunity for vengeance so close at hand.

  The weapon hidden under her cloak at her side bolstered her courage. The soldiers hadn’t searched her—probably figuring one weapon was unusual enough on a woman. She had to hope they didn’t conduct a more thorough search when they arrived. She did not deceive herself. Her chances at success or escape were not good, but they were even less without the element of surprise the dagger would give her.

  She knew she had to act quickly. No matter what he’d done, Cate would not allow Gregor to give himself up for her. Not if she could help it. She was counting on her father to force caution upon him. Even though Gregor thought she’d betrayed him, she did not doubt he would come charging through those gates as soon as he was able. As her “guardian,” he would feel responsible for her. But Robert the Bruce wouldn’t allow one of his most important warriors to give himself up to the English for a woman. Bruce might have let her down as a father, but she could not deny that some of those same qualities made him a good king. Ruthless decisions—not emotional ones—were what had placed the crown upon his head, and thus far had kept it there.

  Unless she was mistaken about the identity of the army of men taking position on the far side of the river, Gregor wouldn’t be able to avoid him. From the looks of it—and what seemed to be concerning the soldiers who’d taken her—Robert the Bruce had arrived at Perth to begin his siege. Along with Berwick, Roxburgh, Edinburgh, and Stirling, Perth—or St. John’s town, as it was also known—was one of the key castles left for Bruce to take back from the English. What must be especially galling to Bruce was that Perth Castle—like Stirling Castle—was being held by a Scotsman, Sir William Oliphant, and defended by a garrison comprised of mostly Scots.

  The knowledge that her father was so close brought an unexpected pang to her chest. Even after all these years, she wanted to know one thing: why. Why had he left her like that? Was it because of his new bride? He’d married his first wife, Isabel of Mar, shortly after he’d left. Had she demanded he stop seeing the woman who’d fathered one of his “bastards,” or had he merely tired of his Cate and her mother?

  She turned away from the army of men beyond the gates. She would never know; as she wasn’t marrying Gregor, she no longer had to face the prospect of seeing her father again. It had been so long, he probably wouldn’t even have recognized her. She wondered if she would have recognized him. The handsome young earl was now a man of nearly two score and a king. Yet somehow she knew she would know him. He’d loomed so large in her past. But that was where he belonged: in her past. Along with Gregor. Her mouth tightened with residual anger and bitterness that not even her exhaustion could erase.

  One of the men, a young soldier by the name of Gibbon, who had taken pity on her over the last day and a half of their journey, handed her a skin of water. Cate was a competent rider, but to prevent Gregor from catching up to them they had ridden over forty miles with only brief stops along the way. She could barely sit on her horse, she was so tired.

  “How will we get in?” she asked, noting the closed gates. “I assume those are the king’s men on the other side of river opposite the drawbridge?”

  “Aye, King Hood has begun his siege earlier than we expected. We won’t be able to use the red gate near the bridge or we’ll run the risk of encountering some of his men. But he hasn’t had a chance to position his men around the city yet, so we can use one of the other gates. They’ll admit us when they see the banner.”

  The men rode under De Bohun’s arms. She guessed they were not knights but ordinary men-at-arms, although from what she’d caught of their conversation, it was obvious that young Fitzwarren hoped to be made a knight as reward for capturing one of Bruce’s Phantoms.

  “We are fortunate that we arrived when we did,” Gibbon said with a kind smile. “Or we might have had a more difficult time making it back inside.”

  “I would think inside would be the last place you should want to go with a siege about to start.”

  He laughed. “Normally you would be right. But this won’t last long. Look at that wall. King Hood doesn’t have the siege engines to bring it down, and we are ready for his trickery. The city has fresh water and stores enough for six months. But it won’t take nearly that long. Mark my words, King Hood will pack his carts and slink back into his foxhole soon enough.”

  Cate couldn’t have realized how prophetic his words would prove to be.

  Two weeks after riding into camp, Gregor stood before the King of Scotland looking very unlike one of the most elite warriors in Scotland—and even less like the most handsome. He’d slept little in the days since Cate had been taken, and every moment that he was awake he was tormented by thoughts of what was happening to her. He looked as horrible and on edge as he felt.

  He was done being patient—no matter who was asking it of him. “I can’t wait any longer.”

  The king eyed him from behind the long table that had been set up in his pavilion. The tent was sparsely decorated for a royal lodging—even a temporary one—but Bruce was more warrior than king. It was one of the things Gregor and his fellow Guardsmen most admired about him. The tent itself was a colorful scarlet and gold, reflecting the royal arms, but inside they stood on rushes, not expensive carpets from the East, and in addition to the table there was only a chair, a bench, a bed, and a painted wooden screen for privacy where the king might wash and change. After living on the run for so many years, the king had learned to travel light, unlike his English counterparts, who seemed to campaign with endless carts carrying furnishings and the royal plate.

  “I understand what you are going through better than anyone, Arrow. Do you not think I would like to ride into England and free my wife and daughter if I could? But I will not let you go like a lamb to the slaughter. I need you too much. Nor will I risk the others.”

  Gregor tried to bite back his frustration, but the king’s refusal to let him attempt a rescue—or exchange himself for Cate—was driving him past the edge of reason. He’d never felt sorry for MacRuairi before, but the past week had given him an inkling of what the famed mercenary pirate–turned–loyal Guardsman must have gone through for two years. God forbid Cate was being kept in a cage like MacRuairi’s now wife had been for part of her imprisonment. Isabella MacDuff was free (as was the king’s young sister Mary), but Bruce’s queen and heir were still being held in English convents. Gregor also understood the king’s fear of Gregor breaking under English torture, but Angel—Helen MacKay—could give him something to ensure that didn’t happen. Monkshood or another poisonous plant would ensure the safety of the others, if it came to that.

  Gregor turned back to the king and tried to use what rationality he had left to argue his point. “But Cate isn’t in England—she’s here in Scotland, in one of our castles. And they weren’t threatening to kill your wife and daughter.” His voice broke, and he looked at the king with hot, dry eyes behind a face that