The Knight(14)

For this third attack his plan was even more subtle. Seton and a dozen of James’s men would pass to the west of the castle in peasant robes, their horses laden with bales of hay and bags of grain, as if they were making their way to the fair at Lanark tomorrow. James and Boyd, with their distinctive builds, recognizable even at a distance, and the other half of his men from their position near the castle gate would wait to close in on the English sortie from behind and, if all went according to plan, take the castle.

James just hoped the attacks he and his men had waged on the supplies making their way to the castle the past few months had done what was intended and made the garrison desperate for provisions. Desperate enough to take their bait. With the fair set for tomorrow, waiting was not an option. Every minute James stayed in the area they risked discovery. It had to be today.

“There they are,” James said. Finally the first of the “pack” horses led by Seton came into view a few furlongs to the west of the castle on the colorless, windswept moorland.

There was less than an hour of daylight left, and the figures were still discernible as peasants, but he prayed it wasn’t too late. Would the English take the chance of an attack and leaving the safety of the castle with darkness falling?

The minutes crept by. Bloody hell, was no one on duty? It seemed to take forever for a guard to notice them.

His pulse raced faster, blood pounding through his veins in anticipation and nervous energy. It was always like this waiting for the plan to unfold, the edginess and slight flaring of his nerve endings. It should be any minute now…

But nothing happened.

Damn. He cursed under his breath, eyeing the “travelers” in the distance. Seton and the men were moving too fast. They would be out of view before the enemy managed to don their damned hose. What the hell were the English doing in there? They were as slow as lasses readying for a feast!

Fortunately, Seton realized what was happening and took action. The bales of hay attached to his horse came untied and tumbled to the ground. He stopped to retie them, halting the rest of the train behind him.

Still the gates did not open. It was too late. James’s delay had cost them. The English weren’t going to take a chance with darkness edging closer and closer.

“They aren’t biting,” Boyd said.

James heard the unspoken criticism. “Give them a minute,” he insisted. Damn it, where was that fool English pride when he needed it? They were peasants; surely the soldiers wouldn’t worry about a little darkness?

He nearly sighed with relief when he heard the grating sound of metal pierce the cool twilight air. Though it wasn’t as grand as the great Border castles like Berwick, Roxburgh, and Jedburgh, and didn’t have a portcullis, the circular donjon tower of Castle Douglas was protected by a barmkin wall and gatehouse with a sturdy iron yett—an iron yett that was opening.

A moment later a score of plundering English whoresons charged out of the castle on armored horses.

The bastards had taken the bait. His plan had worked. Satisfaction surged through his veins in a hot rush, his muscles flaring with anticipation at the battle to come. But it wasn’t all over yet. There were still plenty of pieces that needed to fall into place.

“Be ready, lads,” he warned softly.

He felt the excitement building in the men behind him. To a one they were chomping at the bit for a chance to exact retribution on the English invaders. They were men like him, lord or vassal they’d had something taken or been on the receiving end of English “justice.” It was James’s ability to rally the men of Douglasdale to his banner to harry the English that made him so valuable to Bruce. He and his men already controlled the forests of Ettrick, but they wouldn’t rest until they’d wrested every inch of Scotland from English hands.

The tension was palpable as the English drew closer to Seton and his men. A hundred feet… eighty… fifty…

Now, he urged silently, now.

Boyd wasn’t so circumspect. “Christ, Dragon, attack!”

Almost as if he could hear him, Seton finally gave the signal. The lead English knight was already upon him when Seton tossed off his tattered robe and reached through the piles of hay for the sword that had been hidden carefully therein. With a bloodcurdling battle cry of Airson an Leòmhann—For the Lion, the battle cry of the Highland Guard—Seton cut down the first Englishman who’d been almost on top of him before he realized what was happening. With a shout of surprise the knight fell from his horse, his leg nearly severed from his body from the force of Seton’s blow.

As for the men riding behind him, from a distance it looked as if someone had pulled the ground out from underneath them like a rug. Horses reared wildly in every direction as the charge behind the fallen soldier came to a sudden halt. The carefully ordered formation exploded into chaos as the English struggled to react to the surprise attack and the fact that the helpless peasants they’d intended to plunder had become formidable armed warriors.