Page 14
Ian nodded. “That’s one word for it.”
“How did ye escape?”
The memories of crushed bodies under the rocks, of arrows piercing flesh burned his psyche. Then Abaeze. The friend who had saved his life…and taken his death.
“Someone attacked the palace. Destroyed it. Killed everyone. I was verra, verra lucky.”
And he didn’t deserve that luck.
“It wasna yer fault, brother,” Owen said softly. “That ye were lucky. I can see ’tis torturing ye.”
Ian stared into his cup, his back as hard as a tree. “Ye dinna ken, brother.”
“I ken ye didna deserve to be sold to slavery. I ken ye were unlucky to be on that ship. I ken I’d have come for ye had I kent.”
Ian nodded. “Aye. I’d have come for ye, too. For every single one of ye. No one deserves that.”
They kept silent for a moment.
“How did ye come home? How did ye find the way?”
Ian chuckled. “’Twas easy to get out of the ruined palace with all the guards dead or on the run. Nae so easy to make it through the city in armor. I stole clothes, food, coins, horses. I fought my way through sometimes. Bought my fare on the ship from Constantinople. Then kept northwest. Stayed in Munich for a month or so, earning my wage by mending armor and weapons. Took care of horses in Cologne. Then took a final ship to Dover. Getting through England was more difficult than the whole rest of the journey. I kent they hated Scotsmen but this…”
“Aye. ’Tis war.”
“Hm. I kept away from big roads and from towns and villages. ’Twas only when I inhaled the fresh air of the Highlands, I realized I’d made it.”
“Ye mean, the freshness of sheep shite?”
They cackled. Owen hadn’t lost his lightness through the years. But then his face got serious.
“On the morrow, Craig goes to Falnaird, his estate, to be with Amy. I go with him for a while, until Bruce needs me. He took the Highlands last year, little by little. The English aren’t a threat nae more, it seems. The old King Edward died, and his son, Edward II isna as interested in Bruce as in the troubles in his own court.”
But that couldn’t be all. Ian was far too experienced of a warrior to think the war was over for Bruce. “What of the remaining enemies in Scotland?”
“We fought the rest of the Comyns in the west, so his major threat to the throne is gone. Now he chases after the last Comyns in the northeast to make sure no one opposes him again. The English may resume their attack at any time. The MacDougalls are still a threat, also.”
Ian clenched his fists at the mention of the name. “I hope he crushes them.”
“Aye.” Owen’s mouth curved in a grimace. “And I will be there when he does.”
They exchanged a look, bound by bitter experience. The MacDougalls had done enough to hurt the Cambel clan. Kidnapping and raping Marjorie. Selling Ian into slavery. Killing their grandfather. Owen had plenty of his own reasons to want payback with them.
“For now, Bruce doesna need us as the battles are over for a moment,” Owen continued, “but Uncle Neil who’s with the king may send a message calling us to join the army. Will ye come with us if he does?”
Ian sighed. “Nae. I took enough lives. I canna take more. All I want is peace. And I pray that God forgives me for what I did. Although I dinna think he will.”
“And what if the war knocks at yer door?”
“I hope that it doesna.”
The evening ended quickly after, as Owen got distracted by a pretty servant girl, and Ian continued to drink until he forgot everything. He thought someone might have helped him off the bench and laid him in the corner, covering him in furs and blankets.
Then he passed out.
* * *
He sat by his father’s bed every day. Most of the time, Father slept. They talked a little, but it was clear Father was losing his mind. He kept asking Ian why he reminded him of his son, and Ian repeated the same story.
