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“I think five thousand.” That wasn’t true. The Bruce didn’t have more than two thousand men, but Owen knew the enemy feared the Bruce and thought he had many more. The skill and cunning of the Highlanders, their knowledge of the territory, and the unexpected moves they took were the Bruce’s strength, and Owen wasn’t going to let his king down.
De Bourgh pinched his lips in consideration. “Five thousand is a large force, but there’s a difference between an army of trained warriors and simple farmers holding swords for the first time.”
“He has knights.”
It was true. He did have knights. When the Bruce returned from the west where he’d been hiding, several Scottish knights joined him, and the more success he had, the more men followed him.
“The rest are battle-hardened warriors,” Owen said.
Another lie. The Bruce accepted anyone who wanted to join him. Most were passionate and dedicated. But they weren’t all trained warriors like those in the English army.
De Bourgh narrowed his eyes. They glistened like black glass beads under his eyebrows. “Lies. They cannot be.” He nodded to Jerold Baker. “Time to show our Highlander what happens to liars in Stirling.”
The red-hot rod came closer to Owen’s neck. The burn sent a blinding pain through him and snatched his breath away. But before the rod could dig deeper into his flesh, the door opened.
A tall man with shoulder-length white hair and a short gray beard came in. It was the same man who had given Owen the gold for the king all those years ago.
Chief of the MacDougall clan, John MacDougall of Lorne.
Jerold Baker moved the rod from Owen’s face, but the scent of burned flesh and hair lingered in the room. Owen didn’t notice the pain anymore. Rage and hatred rose in him like in a wall of fire. MacDougall’s eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed.
“I see ye’re busy crushing Scottish flies, Sir de Bourgh,” he said without taking his eyes off Owen. “Canna say I disapprove. I wanted to crush filth for a long time.”
“Oh, yes, you must know each other,” de Bourgh said. “Owen Cambel was just telling me about the Bruce’s army.”
MacDougall came in and let the door shut behind him. “It wilna be the first time he’s betrayed his king.”
A low growl escaped Owen’s throat. “Ye treacherous pig. Ye well ken ’twas yer betrayal, nae mine. Ye orchestrated the whole thing. Ye have looked for a reason to dishonor my clan in front of the king for years.”
“He gave part of MacDougall lands to yer clan. What did ye expect?”
“I expected our ally to be honorable and just. But ’tis better this way. We ken yer true nature, and I’m glad we’re allies with ye nae more.”
“Shut up.”
“Aye, try to shut me up. Ye wilna. While ye go lick the arse of the Sassenach king who couldna care less about ye, the true Scottish king is gaining power.”
MacDougall marched to Jerold Baker and went to grab the rod, but he winced and laid his hand on his side. He cursed, took the rod with his other hand, and pointed it at Owen’s cheek. The heat burned his skin even without touching it. “The true king, ye say? The true goddamn king who killed my brother-in-law, Red John Comyn. How’s that honorable and just, huh, Cambel?”
“Red John Comyn deserved it. He was a traitor. He wanted the English Crown to rule Scotland.”
De Bourgh cleared his throat. “John, perhaps you can wait until we’re done. I need information from him.”
But MacDougall only waved de Bourgh off. Owen chuckled. Anything that would postpone the torture was good. MacDougall was wreaking havoc on de Bourgh’s plan.
Jerold Baker took the rod from MacDougall’s hand and shoved it into a bucket with water. It hissed and steamed.
“And so what if the English Crown rules,” MacDougall said. “’Tis only for the better. It makes us stronger—”
“We’re stronger if we’re free,” Owen said. “But ye’ll never ken true freedom. Once the Bruce is done with ye, all ye will be able to do is to flee. Ye’ll be licking English arse for the rest of yer life as a fugitive.”
“And how do ye imagine the Bruce will do that? MacDougall is the strongest clan in the Highlands. And we have the English army to back us up. He’ll never win. He’s finished.”
“Finished? Ye’re the one who’s done.” Owen laughed right in MacDougall’s face. Fury boiled in his stomach. He should stop now before he said something he’d regret. But already the words were bubbling out. “He’s coming to take Lorne. That’s why he’s back. Yer peace treaty is about to expire. He’ll take Lorne like he took Badenoch and all other Comyn lands.”
MacDougall’s face fell.
Damnation.
