Reid’s brother had been that age.
Except it had only been his da—a man whose skills lent themselves to the soil rather than the sword—out there to defend them all.
The woman ran toward him, her face streaked with soot and tears. “Help me.”
“Is there anyone else inside?” he asked.
She shook her head, her eyes still wide with horror as she watched her home burn.
An arrow darted out from the surrounding woods and sank in the soil near Reid’s feet. He put himself in front of the woman and the boy. “Go to the nearby village.” He didn’t look back at them to ensure they complied.
Nay, he charged into the woods, determined to kill whoever it was firing arrows in his direction. He saw the bastard between the trees, an Englishman, nocking another arrow.
A stick cracked in the distance. Someone else was nearby.
Reid ignored them and rushed at the archer who fired an arrow in his direction. It sailed past him as two soldiers came at Reid. The archer quickly shot in the direction where the stick had snapped.
Hopefully that meant there would be more Scotsmen for the English whoresons to fight.
Reid dispatched the two soldiers with ease as the archer sent another arrow through the woods. No sooner had Reid’s opponents fallen than he was on the archer, jerking his head hard to the right, so his neck gave a sickening crack that reverberated up Reid’s palms.
Pressure at Reid’s back made him jerk forward, and a burning pain blazed out from the spot. He pitched over the body of the archer with a grunt.
The agony was exquisite and left white-hot stars blinding behind his closed lids.
The gentle shush of footsteps over dry grass pulled his attention momentarily from his agony. Someone was there.
To ensure he was dead?
He was in no condition to fight back, the bastard. He gritted his back teeth.
At least he had saved the woman and her child. He hadn’t been able to do the same for his own family. And no one else had been there to do it. Mayhap now, he would join them.
He only wished he’d killed Lord Rottry first.
A delicate lavender scent swept over the odor of blood, followed by the soft intake of breath.
“Ye’re not English?” A feminine voice sounded close to Reid’s ear, not quite Scottish. But not quite English either.
“Neither are ye,” he ground out. The ache of his injury had intensified to the point where even breathing hurt.
“I hit ye.” The woman’s tone was horrified. “I’m so sorry.”
Reid scoffed and pushed himself over to face the woman who had so thoroughly sunk a dagger into his back. But as he looked up, the discomfort in his back faded away, along with the bodies and the blood and the ugly memories dredged up by the burning hut.
He took in the woman’s silky dark hair, her pale blue eyes and the sweetness behind them. Her flushed cheeks and earnest expression gave her an innocence that pierced his very soul.
It was her.
Kinsey’s sister.
Clara.
A woman he knew from simply looking at her that he would never deserve. A woman he had wanted since that day he’d caught sight of her at the market.
Now she was here before him. There was so much he ought to say, so much he had imagined. But as he tried to push the thoughts into words in his mind, darkness permeated his head, and everything went black.
ONE-CLICK Clara’s Vow Now
Author’s Note
King David II, only surviving son of Robert the Bruce, had a rather difficult start to his rule. He was an orphan at the age of five and married by the age of seven (his wife, Joan of England was only three - marriages among children were in name and done for political purpose). Two years later, four of his appointed Guardians either died in battle or were taken prisoner. This left his crown vulnerable.
This is when Edward Balliol seized his opportunity and was crowned king of Scotland with the English king’s support as well as several Scottish supporters. David and his wife, both under the age of ten, were sent to France for their safety. They would not return again for over seven years.
When they did finally return to Scotland at the age of seventeen, he took control of his country as any teenager could. He charged into battle with the righteous need to reclaim what had been taken from him in his absence. What he couldn’t reclaim, he raided.
Raids were awful things. I tried to tame them up as well as I could in Kinsey’s story. It was also why I worked so hard to have their characters avoid getting caught up in them.
The purpose of raids was to demoralize and intimidate. Raiding parties could reach up to the thousands and would descend on unsuspecting villages where they would ransack homes, burn cottages, kill and rape villagers and destroy whatever they could.
England was by no means innocent. Both England and Scotland did this to one another through the violent centuries of the medieval ages. England and France also did this against one another through the Hundred Years’ War. And on and on, countries around the world did this against one another, as did clans and tribes and communities.
For his part, David’s reign was a struggle with much battle and fighting against England, being held captive in England for eleven years before finally agreeing to a ransom he had a hard time keeping up with the payment on and even a divorce from his second wife. However, when he died at the age of 47 (without children), it is said that Scotland was in a place of relative peace and prosper.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my amazing beta readers who helped make this story so much more with their wonderful suggestions: Kacy Stanfield, Janet Barrett and Tracy Emro. You ladies are so amazing and make my books just shine!
Thank you to Erica Monroe
