The Mark of Salvation Read Free

terrain will be to our advantage. He can’t make a frontal cavalry charge over these boulders, and the pass behind us is easily defended. Pembroke’s men will have to come on foot, which might have worked if we weren’t aware of the attack.”
    He looked at Bryan and Morrigan and both nodded their agreement with his evaluation. “Then let him come. We’ll be waiting, thanks to you. Well done, Morrigan.”
    Quietly Bruce ordered his men to send a scout for the hunters to return to camp and arm themselves. The Scots would hold their high ground.
    They barely had time to form up and take position when the English raced out of the woods and across the field of boulders. Morrigan let loose an arrow and caught the leader of the charge in the throat.
    â€œGood shot!” Bruce exclaimed.
    The English, alarmed to find the Scots armed and waiting for them instead of unaware, halted their charge. That hesitation proved fatal to their attack. Bruce cried, “Upon them now!” and the three hundred Scots rushed forward. The English fled back the way they had come.
    Relieved at the quick victory, Bruce solemly laid his hand on Morrigan’s arm. “One day I will repay you, Morrigan Macnab.”
    â€œUnite our country, my laird, and oust the English. That will be reward enough.”
    February 1308, The Hills of Carrick
    CEALLACH KNELT BEFORE HIS FOSTER BROTHER, the king of Scotland, not on the marble floor of a stately palace, but on the dirt floor of a small stone cottage in the hills where they’d been children together. No trappings of office surrounded the royal personage, for Robert’s clothing was nearly as threadbare as Ceallach’s own.
    The months of hard travel, of hiding and fear, of bone deep weariness, threatened to overcome Ceallach. He knew that Bruce had also known treachery, deceit, and physical deprivation this past year, and knowing that had given Ceallach hope of sanctuary. Raising his head, he prayed his eyes would not betray his desperation. Robert was his only chance for anything resembling a normal life.
    Robert smiled. “Rise, Marcus of—”
    â€œNay, sire.” Glancing at the three men standing nearby, Ceallach pulled Bruce close to whisper, “Please, Your Majesty. I go by the name of Ceallach.”
    Bruce studied him a moment before saying, “I understand. Rise then, Ceallach.”
    Ceallach stood as the king waved away the others. They moved to the other end of the cottage, giving the king privacy.
    Robert laid his hand on Ceallach’s shoulder. “All right. How can I be of help?”
    Ceallach managed not to flinch from the touch; he simply moved away so Robert had to remove his hand. His wounds were barely healed and even an innocent touch could cause the skin to break open and ooze. “I think we can help one another, my laird. I have need of sanctuary. You have need of weapons and money.”
    Ceallach had nothing to lose. Either Robert accepted him and gave him refuge, or Ceallach’s life would end here in the wilds of Carrick. No sense mincing words. “I have no home, Robert. I am not safe in any country in all of Europe, save possibly for Scotland. All I held dear was stripped from me, and I’m lucky I escaped with my life.”
    Robert’s expression turned bleak, and suddenly Ceallach feared Robert would banish him, since his very presence endangered anyone that harbored him. Hoping to forestall such a possibility, Ceallach confessed. “I would pledge myself to your cause, Robert.”
    â€œYou would fight for Scotland’s freedom?”
    â€œI am a warrior. ’Tis the only life I know.”
    â€œThis is no holy war, Ceallach, fought to uphold the Church.”
    Ceallach laughed. “No war is holy, Robert. To think otherwise is a fool’s game, and I’m done with being a fool.”
    â€œBut you would fight for freedom?”
    â€œIf that is your cause, then, yes. I