The Thistle and the Rose(63)
Danvers went to the map on the table, but before he could look at it, the sound of fighting broke out in the camp. Another soldier ran breathlessly into the tent.
“Lord Danvers, the Scots are attacking from the north!” he cried. “And there's another army coming over the hills from the west. They're in the camp, m'lord! They're fighting in the camp!”
As soon as Celia saw Danvers move to the captain, she edged backward to the corner of the tent. Ignored in the sudden furor that ensued, she drew her dagger and quickly cut a slit in the thick cloth wall.
As she slipped through the opening, she heard Danvers bellow after her.
“Get her,” the giant butcher shrieked, fiend like in his fury. “I want her!”
Without turning back, Celia ran toward the battle roar of shouts, horses, and clashing steel. It had to be Colin coming from the north. But who would have followed her from the west? Edmund, she thought, coming from Kildalton.
But there was not much time for thinking. Danvers and his men were in close pursuit. As she rounded a grove of trees into a cluster of lean-to huts of earth and sticks, she caught a glimpse of Danvers and the others pounding ever closer behind her.
In a hilly clearing beyond the huts, Celia saw a battle being waged. Hundreds of men fighting in close and bloody combat were throwing themselves at one another. As she ran down a small knoll to the right between two huts, a sudden roar came from behind. A hand grabbed her hair and yanked her off balance.
As Celia fell to the side, she managed to turn and slash at her attacker's face. As she rolled clear, she saw Danvers's hand clutch his cheek as blood streamed through his fingers. As they faced each other breathlessly, Danvers's malignant sneer fixed itself on his prey. He shouted to the others at his back.
“Join the fighting,” he barked, never taking his eyes off of Celia. “I'll be there in a moment.”
The sound of the fighting was moving away. And as the soldiers ran off, he spoke directly to her. “I can see that we are not going to have a long...honeymoon,” he leered malevolently. “But at least I'll have the pleasure of gutting you here and now.”
“Then you made a mistake sending away your helpers,” Celia taunted, putting as much courage as she could muster in her voice as she whipped off her heavy cloak, holding it in her outstretched hand.
“Ha! Ha!” came Danvers's surprised and admiring response as he moved a step toward her. “Still the fearless and haughty young woman. Still Celia Muir!”
Celia saw Danvers raise his sword, and prepared herself to jump, duck, or roll and to strike back with her dagger if she could. If she still lived.
Suddenly the devil’s eyes looked up, and Celia saw irritation turn to recognition, and then a flash of fear.
“That's Celia Campbell now, you cowardly swine,” the voice behind her growled. “You may address her as Lady Campbell, once before you die.”
Celia had to restrain herself from turning and facing Colin. He had come for her. He was here.
She didn't dare avert her eyes from Danvers. She knew it would be a mistake, a fatal mistake, to allow him even an instant to strike.
Suddenly he moved, lunging toward her, sword upraised, hand outstretched.
But Celia was too quick for him. Leaping backward with the agility of a cat, she was beside Colin in a flash. Her hero moved forward to meet the onrushing madman, shielding her with his arm and then his body.
The clang of steel rang out in the mist enshrouded camp. The two men swung their heavy swords at each other with matched ferocity, and sparks flew from their weapons as they struck over and over again with sheer might and deadly determination. Watching them, Celia saw the wild look in Danvers's eyes, which was so different from the cold fury of Colin's glare.
Slowly Colin began to drive the Englishman up the hill, and Danvers's blows started coming more and more quickly. The demon was now lashing out at the Highlander frantically. Celia knew that her enemy was losing control.
Driving his body back into Colin, though, Danvers was able to gain a momentary respite, and he was breathing heavily as the two giants clinched. Then, with a mighty heave, Colin sent his adversary crashing through the side of the hut, losing his sword, though, in the fierce explosiveness of the action.
Never taking his eyes from the dark shape that was Danvers, Colin drew his dagger and plunged after him into the murky and narrow structure. Celia picked up the sword from the tall grass beside the lean-to and ran around the hut in time to see the two great men struggling hand to hand in the shadowy interior of the hovel.
She watched in a cold sweat as Colin and Danvers fought, the two warriors holding nothing back in this fight to the death.
And suddenly they stopped. Celia watched as Danvers backed slowly out the front of the hut. She raised the sword to cut him down, a fury coursing through her that she had never before felt, when his arm reached up to steady himself on the post by the entry. Then, with a half turn, the Scourge of Scotland fell lifeless to the ground, the ebony handle of Colin's dagger protruding from the base of his throat. The black sapphires set in the hilt flashed in silent testimony that justice had been finally, at long last, served.
Colin came to the opening of the hut and looked out at his beloved. Celia rushed to him, and tears of relief washed her cheeks. The two lovers embraced each other, and Colin anointed her forehead with a kiss. Feeling his lips pressed against her skin, Celia felt a great chain slip away—the chain of oppression and intimidation that she had unwillingly carried from the moment of her father's death in England. And as they both turned to look at the body of the madman, a speech that Edmund had once taught her came into her mind. ”As long as a hundred of us remain alive, we will never be subject to the English; because it is not for riches, or honors, or glory that we fight, but for liberty alone!”
Standing in the gray mist on the rain soaked hill, Celia wrapped her arms tightly about the man she loved. And looking down into Danvers's unseeing eyes, Celia knew she had found her liberty. Finally, she was free of the evil that lay in the mud at her feet. Finally, after so long, after so much, Celia was completely and truly free...to love...to live.
Chapter 17
Finally the spring planting is done. As I watch the children herding the cow back toward the shed, I can hear them singing. By the cottage, my wife is standing with her hands on her hips, and I know she can hear them singing, as well. She turns her head and smiles at me across the newly-turned field.
This is a season of great promise.
The June sun was shining down on the huge crowd that had gathered to celebrate the coronation of Kit as King James V of Scotland. Foreign dignitaries, archbishops from Rome, clan chieftains, burghers, and peasants all rubbed shoulders in the grand festival that had descended on what had once been the thriving city surrounding Edinburgh Castle. Everywhere the signs of rebuilding were visible, and the coronation reinforced that sense of renewal. Once inside, invited guests admired a Great Hall festooned with the tartans of every clan in Scotland.
Made regent by the deal struck between her brother Henry VIII and the Scottish nobles led by Huntly, Queen Margaret, arrayed in a gown of English cloth of gold, sat beside the infant Kit, who was propped on pillows on the ancient throne of the Scottish kings. The earl of Huntly stood nearby with two other earls, each holding a velvet pillow. A crown, a scepter, and a sword rested on the pillows, and the line of Scotland's elite stretched into the Outer Hall and beyond.
Gripping Colin's arm as they made their way to the dais, Celia fought back the tears that were welling up in her eyes. For nearly eight months, Kit had been hers, to love and care for. Now he was the King of Scotland, and safe at last.
Queen Margaret and Celia had made their peace in the weeks following the defeat of Lord Danvers. Celia and Margaret had talked of the child and about the ways each had tried to preserve the Crown Prince's safety in the days following Flodden. To Margaret, the English court had always been home, and the safest place she knew. That was why she had arranged to have Kit taken there.
But after the prince's disappearance, the queen had heard reports of the horrifying activities of the man to whom she had tried to deliver her child. It was only then that she realized the magnitude of the error she had nearly committed. After that, Margaret had pressed for a speedy settlement to the negotiations insuring her son's safety, and her gratitude to Celia was evident in the words she had spoken when they met.
Colin placed his hand over hers, gently stroking it as they stepped closer to the front. As they reached the dais, the earl of Angus looked at the couple and introduced them.
“Lord and Lady Campbell...the earl of Argyll.”
In recognition of Colin's success in defense of Scotland against the barbaric invader, Lord Danvers, and Celia's heroic protection of the Crown Prince, the nobles of Scotland, with the full support of Queen Margaret, had made Lord and Lady Campbell Peers of the Realm, bestowing on them the earldom of Argyll.
As Colin recited his oath of loyalty to the new king, Kit raised his arms to the two kneeling before him. With a laugh the queen stood and picked up the child, placing him in Celia's arms. Celia wept, no longer able to restrain the emotions that were overflowing within her, and Colin gathered the two in his arms, whispering his words of love. After the momentary embrace, Celia stood and placed the smiling Kit back in his mother's arms.