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  Comyn and a handful of his commanders fled through the gates to join the two thousand still outside the walls. He ordered them to stand and fight, but the clan chiefs were reluctant in light of the slaughter. And when the Bruce army poured out of the city, drunk with victory and ready to annihilate anything in its path, the lairds took their men and fled in the direction of the Scottish border.

  By the time dusk fell, Robert Bruce and his army had vanquished the foe. They rode back inside the walls of Carlisle to help the citizens put out the fires that had been set by the enemy. It was only after Robert downed a tankard of ale to ease his parched throat that a picture of Marjory de Warenne flashed into his mind. Wigton was unsafe. He knew he must go immediately and bring her to Carlisle.

  Once Robert Bruce deposited Jory de Warenne and Alice Bolton at Carlisle Castle, he set out immediately to rout the Scottish invaders scattered across the English dales and chase them back over the border. So many flocked to the Bruce banners that Robert soon had control over his old territories.

  He dispatched his brother Nigel to scout the location of the main body of the English army and deliver the arrogant message that the Braces would hold Annandale, Dumfries, Galway, and Carrick secure for Edward Plantagenet.

  Lynx de Warenne, on night patrol, riding the perimeters of the vast English camp, prided himself on the vigilance of his Welsh archers. Their night vision and hearing were superior to that of English men-at-arms and Lynx believed it did not simply come from training. He believed his Welshmen had a sixth sense that warned them of impending danger. When Lynx heard the signal cry of the night owl he was immediately alerted and caught Nigel Brace as he slipped into camp.

  With a blade at his throat and his heart pumping out of control, Nigel cried out, “A Brace, a Brace!”

  Lynx lowered his knife, but still kept the intruder in a hammerlock until he got a good look at him. The two men recognized each other at the same moment and the stranglehold turned into a swift embrace of brotherhood.

  In John de Warenne’s campaign tent Nigel Bruce told what had happened at Carlisle. He assured them that Marjory and Alicia were safe and that the Bruce army had won a complete victory over half the Scots force and had been hard on the heels of the other half, as Comyn retreated to Scotland.

  De Warenne’s spies had informed him that another force of Scots had seized Earl Patrick’s castle of Dunbar, and as he listened to Nigel Bruce, he knew exactly where Comyn was headed. Once the Scots armies were joined, they would make a formidable force, and it was apparent that force would await them at Dunbar.

  He asked Nigel Bruce to draw him a detailed map of Scottish territory from the border up to the Firth of Forth and pored over it for the next few hours. By dawn John de Warenne had a plan, but he knew its success depended upon the full cooperation of Robert Bruce and the army he now commanded.

  Nigel shook his head. “My brother puts Bruce interests first. I left him ensconced at our stronghold of Lochmaben at the head of the Annandale Valley. When men saw the Bruce banners, they flocked to us; we encountered no opposition. Robert is back where he belongs, holding the western marches. It would take wild horses to drag him from his own turf.”

  Lynx felt the full impact of John de Warenne’s long, speculative look. There was little point in arguing with his uncle when he was in the right. It was rumored that the Braces had signed pacts with many of the earls of southern Scotland, so without the help of Robert Brace, victory was uncertain. The fighting could drag on for years, taking and losing the same territory over and over. A decisive battle was necessary to tip the scales and send a message to all of Scotland that Baliol was deposed forever.

  “All right,” Lynx agreed. “I’ll go back with Nigel and persuade the Bruce on one condition.” His green eyes were deadly serious as he gave John de Warenne a level look. “I want your word, not Edward Plantagenet’s, that Robert will be reconfirmed in his lands and castles, and that everything that went to Comyn will revert to the Braces, immediately and without question.”

  The day after Lynx arrived at Lochmaben, he rode out with his friend Robert Brace across Annandale visiting each of the Brace castles from Caerlaverock to Lockryan. As they rode higher up the valley the views became spectacular. “What was the original grant?” Lynx asked.

  “My ancestor Adam de Bras, who came over with the Conqueror, was granted lordship of Annandale and two hundred thousand acres straddling the important western route between England and Scotland.”

  “The Norman lust for land still runs hot in our blood,” Lynx admitted. “We are all of us conquerors.”

  Robert laughed. “As well as Norman, I have Celtic blood from my mother. Is it any wonder I have a compulsion to rule it all?”

  As they rode into the prosperous town of Dumfries with its Franciscan monastery and its magnificent stone bridge whose nine arches spanned the river Nith, Lynx could not help feeling covetous.

  “I cannot fault you for never wanting to leave here. Annandale is the loveliest country I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, Essex and Surrey are beautiful and well cultivated, as well as being the most profitable land to own, but the vistas here are so majestic they touch the heart and soul. Can we take a look at the castle?”

  Robert grinned at him. “Dumfries isn’t one of mine, it’s a royal castle, but it happens to be in my territory. I have an idea! When we defeat Comyn, ask the king to make you Governor of Dumfries, then we can be neighbors.”

  Lynx’s eyes locked with Robert’s. “Then you’ll join the fight?” Lynx had almost given up hope. He’d talked himself hoarse without Robert’s showing the least inclination to lend his support. Lynx had pointed out that Robert should have waited for King Edward to reconfirm his lands and castles before having reclaimed them. The English monarch did not take kindly to arrogance in anyone, other than himself. But Lynx got the distinct impression that Robert Bruce was indifferent to Plantagenet rages.

  Now, suddenly, Robert capitulated. Lynx doubted it was for friendship’s sake alone. More likely it was the challenge he had thrown out, Lynx decided. He hadn’t the faintest idea how much his green eyes reminded Robert of his sister Jory’s, as he rode beside him in the April sunshine.

  “It’s the Bruce!” Word spread like wildfire through the town of Dumfries and before Robert and Lynx arrived at the castle, all who dwelled within and without were aware of the fact that the Earl of Carrick, Lord of Annandale was riding in. Dumfries had served the Comyns for the last three years, and all save the steward were nervous about the Brace’s frame of mind.

  Jock Leslie was at the massive castle doors to welcome the powerful earl, and to provide him with refreshment and to offer whatever services he could render.

  “I remember you,” Robert said, pleased with what he saw at Dumfries. “How long have you been steward here?”

  “Over twenty years, my lord.”

  Robert introduced Lynx de Warenne, who plied Jock with many pertinent questions about Dumfries.

  “I understand that sheep mean wealth in the dales. How large is your flock?”

  “Aye, my lord. Dumfries had a thousand sheep. The price of their wool would have kept us all year. Unfortunately, Comyn’s army took the sheep before the shearing started.”

  Lynx saw the look of anger on the Brace’s face. “Does Dumfries have its own forge?”

  “Aye, my lord, we also have a gristmill and a brewhouse. We are usually self-sufficient here.” Jock Leslie was both honored and proud to answer the questions and give them a tour of the castle. He was deeply gratified when they praised his stewardship. These intelligent men fully understood the concept that castellans were castle keepers and must serve whoever garrisoned Dumfries. “We would be honored if you would stay for dinner, my lords.”

  Robert Bruce cocked an eyebrow at Lynx, who nodded eagerly. “Thank you, it will be our pleasure to dine at Dumfries.”

  Jane’s sisters arrived at the cottage, more excited than she had ever seen them before.

&nb
sp; “Come, come quick! It’s the Bruce himself! He’s reputed to be the handsomest man in Scotland,” Mary cried.

  “And the strongest,” Kate added. “Women faint at the sight of him!”

  Jane saw that Megotta was scandalized by the avid hero worship her granddaughters were displaying and listened silently as Megotta rebuked them soundly. But Jane noticed it had little effect on her sisters and she too was curious. “Let’s go and see what the wicked devil looks like,” Jane urged Megotta.

  They joined the crowd in the bailey to see for themselves the two powerful lords who were visiting Dumfries Castle. As their gazes swept over the two men, one fair, the other dark, it was easy to identify which one was Robert Bruce.

  “Who is that with him? He looks like a Norman to me,” Megotta said suspiciously.

  “Rumor has it he’s English, a personal friend of the Bruce,” a woman in the crowd answered.

  Jane Leslie felt outrage. How dare the Bruce bring an evil Anglo-Norman to Dumfries? Only one person in the crowd did not look at Robert Bruce. Jane’s gaze came to rest upon the magnificent man with the tawny mane of hair and brilliant green eyes who stood beside the Bruce. She gasped in disbelief. He was the living embodiment of her lynx!

  As her fingers clasped the touchstone about her neck, she became aware of the pulse beating in her throat. Jane blinked rapidly, knowing the image could not be real, but she could not dispel it. The excited voices of her sisters and the noisy crowd fell away until all she could hear was her own wild heartbeat. Jane was aware of nothing and no one save the powerful male whose tawny-gold mane gave him the leonine look of a lynx.

  For one heart-stopping moment, it seemed to Jane that the green eyes looked directly into hers and were able to look into her very soul. In a flash she realized that she knew this man; she had seen him before. In a heartbeat, Jane remembered her dream. It came flooding back to her in explicit, shameful detail.

  The memories stopped the breath in her throat. In her mind’s eye she watched the lynx transform himself into a human male and that man was here before her today in living flesh and blood. Jane’s cheeks grew warm as she remembered how he moved with the lithe stealth of a lynx and before she could either cry out or run, he had held her in his powerful hands. This was the enemy! He was a Norman with evil powers to control her—to control them all.

  “Megotta, we don’t want him here,” Jane whispered urgently. “We must get rid of him!”

  Then Jock Leslie took the visitors into the castle and Jane and Megotta knew he would extend Dumfries’ hospitality by inviting them to dine.

  “We’ll go to the kitchens,” Megotta decided. “We’ll get rid of them one way or another.”

  When Jane and her grandmother entered the kitchens through the rear door, the cooks were rushing about, stirring a cauldron of soup, testing the tenderness of a haunch of venison turning on a huge spit, putting round loaves into a massive baking oven, and throwing vegetables into boiling water.

  “I shall make the gravy,” Megotta declared, just as Jock Leslie arrived in the vast kitchens.

  He took one look at Megotta and strode to her side. “Out of this kitchen now, woman! I’ll have none of your malicious tricks today. Would you bring shame down upon our heads?” he demanded. Megotta’s protestations of innocence fell on deaf ears. Jock knew the depth of his mother-in-law’s hatred for outsiders. “Andrew,” he admonished his son, who was steward-in-training, “I’m putting you in charge. Don’t allow Megotta back in here under any circumstances!”

  After her grandmother left, Jane took herself off to a corner where she waited patiently until the food was ready to be served. Her emotions of fear and hatred were all tangled together, but of one thing she felt certain: the Norman was the more dangerous of the two visitors.

  Jane stepped forward as one of the cooks poured soup into a large tureen and laced it with cream and wine. “Andrew, may I serve the soup?” she asked sweetly.

  Her brother smiled at her. “Very well, Jane, but don’t dawdle; it cools down quickly.”

  As Jane entered the dining hall, her heart was in her mouth as each step took her closer to Dumfries’ honored guests. She was amazed at her own temerity. Would she really have enough courage to carry out her plan? She felt all ashiver as she lifted the ladle to serve Robert Bruce. Her nerve failed her, as she bit her lip and poured his soup without spilling a drop. She glanced furtively at the tawny-haired man sitting beside him and her eyes focused on his lips. She shuddered, remembering the things his wicked mouth had done to her in the dream. She drew in a swift breath as she saw his gaze rise from her breasts to her hair and she saw the swift appraisal and the fierce look of desire that hardened his face. When his sensual mouth curved in a smile of invitation, her resolve hardened. Jane quickly tipped the tureen so that the rich soup cascaded into the man’s lap.

  Lynx de Warenne jumped up immediately, thankful his leather tunic and chausses had prevented his being scalded. Like lightning his hand shot out to imprison the girl’s wrist before she could escape. His angry green gaze swept over the girl with the brilliant hair. “Who the devil are you?”

  “A Celt!” she said defiantly.

  “A little hellcat who needs taming, I think.”

  “I am a sworn enemy to the evil English!”

  Jock Leslie, who had been bringing his guests the best wine Dumfries had to offer, rushed forward to try to undo the damage his daughter had done.

  “Who is this girl?” de Warenne demanded.

  “A clumsy serving wench, my lord.” Jock was too embarrassed to acknowledge Jane as his daughter.

  “She’s not clumsy in the least. That was no accident, it was done deliberately.” De Warenne’s eyes narrowed as he freed her wrist. He knew she’d like nothing better than to fly at him and scratch his face, but she did not dare. “I’d like to teach you manners,” he said in a low, rough voice that told her clearly he’d like to do other things to her as well.

  “Leave the hall at once!” Jock ordered. “She will be punished, my lord.”

  As the red-haired maid fled the hall, Robert Bruce spoke up quickly. “Allow me to apologize on behalf of all Celts. Our passionate natures get in the way of rational behavior sometimes.”

  Lynx de Warenne couldn’t help but laugh. He wouldn’t mind pitting his own passionate nature against the red-haired maiden’s. “Don’t punish the girl, Jock Leslie,” he said. “I know hatred runs deep for the English, here in Scotland, and the serving wench is no more than an impetuous girl.”

  Jock summoned raven-haired Kate with an imperious finger. “My own daughter will serve ye the rest of yer meal, my lords. I give ye my pledge that nothing more will mar yer visit.”

  Jane ran to the stables as if the devil himself were after her. She saw that her brother Keith had put the lords’ horses in the best stalls and had found oats for them. As Jane approached the beautiful stallions, she began to talk softly. Though she intensely disliked their owners, the horses were the finest she had ever seen. She threaded her fingers through the silken mane of the powerful gray and was delighted when he whickered.

  After talking to them for a while, she became tempted to open and search their saddlebags. Perhaps she could learn the identity of the disturbing man who accompanied Robert Bruce to Dumfries. Perhaps she would unearth a clue that would tell her why he had come and what he was doing here.

  As she looked at the contents of the gray’s saddlebags, she decided this horse belonged to the Bruce. All they held was water, oat cakes, and a rolled-up plaid. Jane put the things back the way she had found them and moved over to the next stall. She rubbed the sleek black neck of the stallion, murmuring endearments for long minutes before she unfastened the saddlebags to look inside.

  Here again the contents were disappointing. All she found were apples, a pair of black leather riding gauntlets, and a parchment of what looked like a map of Annandale to her untrained eye. Since she could not read, Jane refolded it and put everything back the way she
had found it; all except for one of the apples.

  With one hand she held the apple out to the black stallion, while stroking his neck with the other. Jane almost jumped out of her skin when an angry voice demanded, “What the hell are you doing to my horse?”

  She tried to run, but his long strides devoured the distance between them and a calloused hand took her arm in a viselike grip. “Have a care, Norman, I am a witch with strong powers over an enemy of Scotland!”

  “Your superstitious claims do not interest me. What I want to know is what did you feed my horse?”

  Jane forgot her fear and became indignant. “I would never harm an animal. I gave him an apple. Let me go, you are hurting me!”

  “I ought to hurt you, I ought to put you across my knee, you willful little jade.”

  “Oh-ho, what do we have here? Am I interrupting the prelude to a roll in the hay?” Robert asked with a grin.

  “Very amusing,” Lynx said dryly, relaxing his grip on the girl. “How the hell can one female cause such havoc in so short a time?”

  Robert winked. “You know what they say about redheads: avoid them like the plague!”

  Jane stood shaking as she watched them ride from the stables. Relief overwhelmed her that the Anglo-Norman was leaving. But just as she felt this wasn’t their first encounter, Jane sensed it would not be their last. The lynx would return. It was inevitable.

  6

  John de Warenne’s plan worked like a charm. As the Scottish army arrived at the first slopes of the Lammermuir Hills, tired from its invasion of Cumberland, the English forces swept down upon it. When the Scots tried to retreat, they ran into Brace’s army, who had come up behind them, and they were trapped between the two enemy forces.

  In the fierce battle that ensued at Spottsmuir, near Dunbar, the Scots suffered a crushing defeat. Edward’s commanders were battle-hardened veterans, their men-at-arms far better disciplined and equipped than the Scots. By the end of the day, not only was Comyn captured, but one hundred and thirty important Scottish knights, along with the Earls of Menteith, Atholl, and Ross. The following day, Dunbar Castle surrendered.