PROLOGUE
Scottish Lowlands
Year of Our Lord 1483
Beneath the morning sky, with the songbirds calling to one another and the gentle breeze
filtering through the trees, it seemed like any other bucolic day in the lowlands of Scotland. It
was pleasant and gentle. But upon those lands moved men who were adversaries against one
another, Scots against English, men against men.
It was a day for death.
Today, the Clan MacKay and their allies were out for blood.
And Brody MacKay was at the head of it.
It had started like most conflicts start. Something small that turned into something big. In this
case, it was because the Scots, once again, wanted the much-disputed city of Berwick back,
along with the castle, and there had been a great deal of fighting going on in and around Berwick
because of it. Those border clans put out a call to the highlands for reinforcements and about
seventy men from Clan MacKay joined up with an ally, Clan Munro, and headed to the border
town of Berwick to assist in the fighting.
But the warzone of the Scottish marches was evident.
In truth, it was a mess.
Clan Kerr of Hawick, one of the clans leading the charge, had been badly reduced in number,
so Clans MacKay and Munro bolstered them. Small villages had been cleared of the enemy and
some men even remained behind to help the villagers rebuild, but there was still the ever-present
threat of a new English attack. But most importantly, there was rumor of a group of English
heading for a mighty border castle with a convoy of wounded from Berwick and once the clans
heard about that transport, they were determined to hit it and hit it hard. The English had done so
much damage to their villages that destroying a convoy of wounded, as dishonorable as that
sounded, would show the English that the Scots were not going to show mercy, nor were they
going to give up their quest for Berwick.
An attack like that would send a message.
Still, the method in which that information had been received was suspect by some. Truth be
told, his father was one of them. An English soldier deep inside the House of de Wolfe, the
largest family on the Scottish border who essentially controlled most of it, was said to have sent
the message to his cousin, who was a member of Clan Kerr. That bit of information had old Arch
MacKay, Brody’s father, questioning everything.
But not Brody.
He knew best.
Strangely, the chief of Clan Kerr of Hyndlee, a smaller offshoot of Clan Kerr of Hawick,
agreed with Brody. He thought the intelligence was viable and wanted to pursue it, but his men
had been slaughtered by the wars with the English, mostly the Duke of Gloucester and the House
of de Wolfe, so Brody offered his men to bolster the ranks. That didn’t go over well with his
father, but Brody wasn’t in the habit of being denied. He did what he wanted to do and when a
few men from Clan Kerr and some stragglers from other clans moved out before dawn, Brody
and thirty of his men went with them, including two of Brody’s cousins, Doogie and Cauley.
They were full of confidence as they followed the path that they believed would intercept the
convoy of wounded, but it took them quite close to a massive fortress known as Wolfe’s Lair. It’s
real name was Rule Water Castle, and it was about ten miles away from the English border set in
the lowlands of Scotland, but it had been a property of the powerful House of de Wolfe for about
two hundred years. Since de Wolfe was kin with Clan Scott, and the castle sat on Scott lands, no
one had ever tried to remove them. The English at Wolfe’s Lair were deeply entrenched and it
was to this castle that the wounded were being moved.
That brought Brody and the Scots onto de Wolfe lands.
There were two main roads that converged at Wolfe’s Lair from the south. One was a larger
road from due south, while the smaller road was from the southeast. They assumed the convoy
would be taking the smaller road since they would be coming from Berwick to the east, so they
headed towards that one.
Although they were on foot, they moved swiftly. It had taken them a few hours to reach a
wooded area that was a perfect place for an ambush, about two miles out from Wolfe’s Lair, and
it had the advantage of having a loch just to the north so that their northern flank would be
covered by the water. No one could sneak up on them from that direction. Although the Kerr
men were in command of this ambush, Brody didn’t like the way they were trying to set the trap
and he ordered his men to move further down the road where the trees were thicker.
“Brody?” Doogie MacKay, young and excitable but quite capable, was running alongside
him as they spread out from Clan Kerr. “Why here? Why do ye think the Sassenach will be here
today?”
Brody could see the road from the slight rise they were on. “Because if they’re coming from
Berwick, they have tae come down this road,” he said, noting the angle of the sun and the fact
that they were at least two hours into the morning at this point. “They would have stopped in
Kelso and then Jedburgh, and from Jedburgh, the Lair is a half-day’s ride.”
“But why today?”
“Because the scout said that they’d left Berwick six days ago,” Brody pointed out. “If they
traveled slowly, which they did because of the wounded, they’ll reach the Lair either today or
tomorrow. And we’ll be waiting for them.”
Doogie was more of a follower than a leader, so he simply nodded to his cousin’s logic. He
thought Brody was brilliant and he always had. Being younger than Brody, he’d followed him
without question. Whatever Brody decided was fine with him. As they were moving up towards
the wooded position, Cauley MacKay came running up behind them.
“Brody!” he nearly shouted. “There are some deer up by the loch! ’Twould make fine
eating.”
Brody slowed down and turn to his long-legged cousin, frowning. “The only hunting we’ll be
doing today is for Sassenach,” he said. “We’ve no time for anything else.”
Cauley sighed sharply. “But the lads haven’t eaten well since before we went tae Berwick,”
he said unhappily. “I can take down a buck right now and we’ll come back for it after we’ve
dealt with the Sassenach.”
Brody growled. “I told ye nay,” he said. “Now, get up ahead. Clear those trees so we’ll be
properly concealed when the Sassenach come through.”
Cauley wasn’t pleased, but he did as he was told. Those long legs took him up ahead, running
for the trees with the other Scots, all of them planning to find concealment within the foliage and
wait out the English convoy.
But they never got the chance.
Brody should have seen it coming. He really should have. They were heading down a
clearing, surrounded by forest, and he would have realized that it was the perfect place for an
ambush had he not been so focused on setting up his own ambush. The first sign of trouble were
odd whistling sounds, which he’d heard before. He knew what they were in an instant. Startled,
he watched several Scots cut down by arrows, flying in from the trees around them. After a
moment of disbelief, he understood what was happening.
They were caught in a trap.
Ambush!
Brody began bellowing to his men, shouting at them to retreat, but they were caught in a
clearing with no protection. Swiftly, the Scots turned around and began running back the way
they came, but there were more English who had closed in behind them. Brody felt like the
biggest fool in the world for not realizing they were being stalked. He’d been so consumed with
what lay ahead for his men, what they needed to do, that he’d failed to adequately protect their
flanks. Everyone had been moving forward, not looking back. That was a fundamental
consideration for any military movement.
Always watch your rear.
He hadn’t.
Now, his men were paying the price.
But he was determined to get them out of it. A few had been hit by the arrows, he already
knew, but he had to save those who remained. Heart pumping, palms sweating, he ran for the
only gap that didn’t seem to be full of English arrows. They hadn’t charged them yet, but that
would come. They would hang back and let the arrows do the work first and then sweep in to
clean up who hadn’t been struck down, so he knew they had a little time before the wave of
English overwhelmed them.
Time.
He just needed a little time.
As he ran, his father’s words came back to him. Words of caution. Words of suspicion on the
intelligence reports. But the words he could hear most of all were his own, telling his father that
he was an old woman for worrying so. He laughed at his father, hugged him, and finally told
him, quite sharply, that they couldn’t pass up this opportunity to do more damage to the English.
Arch hadn’t wanted him to go, but Brody had gone, anyway.
Now, that was coming back to haunt him.
He was deeply regretting his actions.
Since Brody had been at the rear of the group of Scots, he was now at the front as they
retreated and he hadn’t looked back to see how many men he had left. He could hear shouting in
the trees, meaning the English were preparing to charge, so it was essential they retreat to safety
and either hide or continue running. As he came to the crest in a rise, he could see that loch
spread out before him. Because of the landscape, there were steep hills on two of the four sides,
which would make it difficult to run around the loch. The only flat area was the one he was
standing on and one directly across the water. He could see it on the other side. But in order to
get there, they’d have to swim.
Others realized it, too, because they were already running into the water and swimming.
Brody took the time to look to either side of him, seeing both Doogie and Cauley standing next
to him.
“Come on, lads,” he said with quiet authority. “In we go.”
He stepped into the water but he was knee-deep before he realized his cousins hadn’t moved
with him. He paused, turning to them.
“Into the water,” he commanded softly. “We must swim, lads. Move quickly.”
Cauley stepped in, but his eyes were wide with fear. “I canna swim,” he said. “I dunna know
how.”
Brody was close enough to grab him. “Hang on tae me,” he said. “I’ll keep ye afloat.”
Before Cauley could reply, English were suddenly at their backs, rushing forward. Doogie
was still on the shore, a dozen yards back, and Brody watched in horror as his young cousin took
a sword to his midsection. As the man collapsed with a swarm of English around him, Brody
dove into the water and pulled Cauley with him. They were out of time and there was no looking
back.
No turning back.
They were swimming for their lives.
Truthfully, Brody was terrified. It was either face the English or the loch and, at the moment,
he chose the loch. He knew it would be just as unforgiving as the English but he didn’t have
much choice. He could see men ahead of him in the water, several of them foundering. He began
to realize the some of his men couldn’t swim and they’d jumped into the loch knowing that,
knowing it was their only hope at living. Perhaps that had been foolish enough to think the loch
wouldn’t be too deep for them to walk it, but they had. In their desperation to flee, they’d
overlooked the obvious.
Brody knew he couldn’t save them.
Already, he was struggling with Cauley hanging on to him. His cousin was a big man, trying
to keep his head above water, but he was swallowing more water than he was taking in air. Brody
was swallowing a fair amount himself because with Cauley’s weight, he couldn’t swim
efficiently. The sense of panic was hard to ignore, but Brody had to. If he didn’t, he’d be lost just
like the men around him, sinking into the cold waters of the loch, lost to a watery grave.
On the shore, the English hadn’t pursued them into the water, but they were scaling the hills
around them, keeping the Scots from coming to shore and making a run for it. But even the
English could see that the Scots were in a world of trouble, so they slowed their pace. The loch
was going to do their job for them. Because the hills were so steep around the loch, they
eventually came to a halt and just watched the disaster unfold before them.
Men were drowning.
The Scots were dying.
Brody knew that. God help him, he knew it and he was devastated by what was happening.
But he also knew he would join them if Cauley didn’t stop being so much dead weight, so he
tried to encourage his cousin as he swam along.
“Kick yer feet!” he commanded, sputtering out water. “Cauley, kick! Kick or we willna
survive!”
The water was cold and what they wore, the woolen tunics and boots, were heavy. They were
dragging them down even as Cauley kicked as hard as he could. But he was kicking in a way that
wasn’t helpful because he didn’t know how to propel himself forward.
“I am!” he said, coughing because water was in his mouth, up his nose, and everywhere else.
“I’m trying!”
“Do it or we die!”
Cauley was trying so hard, but he simply couldn’t get the same motion no matter how much
Brody tried to show him.
“Oh, God, Brody,” he finally said, coughing up more water. “I’m not going tae make it. Help
me! Please, God, help me!”
“Cauley, watch me,” Brody said, coming to a halt and treading water even as he tried to keep
his cousin afloat. “Watch my hands and arms. See what I’m going? Ye can do this. It will keep ye
afloat.”
He was doing a very basic swimming motion, paddling they called it, but Cauley was in too
much of a panic to try. He kept grabbing Brody, dragging him down in the water.
“I canna do it!” Cauley cried.
“Ye can!” Brody boomed. “Do it and ye’ll live, I swear it!”
Cauley grabbed hold of Brody’s hair and pulled him underwater, which made Cauley go
under as well. Brody knew that if he didn’t separate himself from his cousin, he was going to
drown. They’d come to that moment where Brody either had to save himself or die alongside his
cousin, trying to keep the man from drowning.
He had to let go.
His head came up and he gasped for air, disengaging Cauley’s grabbing hands. Once he
detached his cousin from him completely, Cauley’s eyes widened in terror. He began gasping in
panic, his big hands slapping the water as he grabbed for Brody, and all Brody could do was
encourage him to paddle like he’d shown him. He was about an arm’s length away, fearful that
Cauley would drown him if he got any closer.
“Paddle, Cauley, paddle!” he shouted. “Ye can do it, lad! Try hard!”
But Cauley couldn’t. He was too far gone with panic. He tried to grab Brody a few more
times before his head went under completely. His hands, his arms, flailed about, but he couldn’t
lift his head out of the water. As Brody watched, heartbroken, Cauley slipped down beneath the
surface of the loch.
A quiet ending to a violent death.
And it was devastating. Sobbing, Brody began to swim again for the shore on the opposite
side of the loch, which was now closer. He could see a few men still swimming, still making
their way towards shore, but at that point, Brody hardly cared. He’d just lost two men he loved
like brothers in Cauley and Doogie and he simply couldn’t face what he’d done.
This was his fault.
He’d done this to them.
It wasn’t the English or the battle for Berwick or anything else that had caused their deaths.
This was on him because he’d been arrogant enough to think he could ambush the English and
teach them a thing or two. In the end, he’d been the one taught the lesson.
That he was stupid.
Reckless.
That men had died because of him.
Once he reached the opposite shore, he counted only six MacKay men. Six where there had
once been thirty. The loch had claimed those lives… but nay. He had claimed those lives. He
might as well have drown them all himself. Distraught, and devastated, Brody simply started to
walk. Stagger was more like it. One foot in front of the other. He didn’t know where he was
going, but he wasn’t going back to face his father with what he’d done. He’d defied the man and
it had cost him everything.
He couldn’t admit that he’d been wrong.
The coward in him kept running. ...
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