Read Blue Bells of Scotland: Book One of the Blue Bells Trilogy for Free Online Page B

his fall. He didn't volunteer that the walls had swum before him during his passage through the dungeons or that even now, Iohn's face wavered, split, and re-joined.
    "To other matters, then," MacDonald said. "I've had news today. Edward Bruce has made a deal with de Mowbray at Stirling Castle."
    "The rumors are true, then?" asked Iohn. He turned to Niall, who arched one eyebrow significantly. They'd discussed Stirling, he and Iohn, in late night talks atop the castle tower, and the possibility of Niall being sent for Hugh. Now the future they'd feared was unfolding. Not to his liking.
    "Aye." The Laird looked tired. "Edward Bruce's siege of Stirling goes poorly, but de Mowbray knows he canna hold out forever. He agreed to turn Stirling over if King Edward does not send reinforcements by Midsummer's Day."
    The men stared at each other in the flickering light. The older men all bore the same bristling beards, in shades of red, gray, and black, and thick, heavy eyebrows. The young men, Conal, Niall, Iohn and William, wore their dark hair loose to the shoulders. Their backs were straight and strong, their eyes direct. Each knew what this meant: more war for Scotland.
    "England is sending the largest army the world has ever seen." The Laird paused significantly, looking one by one at each of the nobles. All looked back with forceful eyes. "A hundred thousand, they say. They plan to reinforce Stirling, and crush all Scotland from there."
    Lord Morrison scoffed. "Edward is not his father. He'll not take Scotland back. He couldna even keep what was left him."
    "Look how easily Roxburgh and Edinburgh were taken from him," added Lord Darnley.
    "A hundred thousand," MacDonald repeated, stressing each word. "Edward Bruce threw down the gauntlet. King Edward's pride is at stake. Better if young Bruce had not made that agreement. But it is done. We will send our men, and send also for all our kin, immediately."
    "If he is so powerful," suggested William Darnley, "might it not be better to stand with him, that his wrath might not fall on us?"
    MacDonald stared at each in turn. Their eyes reflected the flickering torches. "I will risk all," he said, "before I will let that monster take my country."
    There was a long silence. A drop of water formed along a ceiling beam and fell to the stone floor with a loud plop in the silence.
    "Will you send for Hugh?" Lord Darnley asked. "He has become strongest of us all, with his men and all their clans at his command."
    "I will send word," said the Laird. Several men looked at Niall.
    "Tell me where he is, my Lord," spoke the small and wizened Lord Morrison. "Niall is still recovering. I'll go."
    "'Tis but a scratch," Niall said. "I will do my duty."
    "No one doubts your willingness, Niall," said Lord Morrison. He rubbed his hands together for warmth. "But are you able? We must think what is best for Scotland."
    "I will think on it," said the Laird. His eyes met Niall's. They held each other's gaze momentarily, the torch flames flickering reflections in their eyes.
    "'Tis not good," Lord Darnley persisted, "that so few know his whereabouts. What if aught befall that one or two?"
    "'Tis a matter for another day," said MacDonald. "As it is, we must send runners for all of our kin, with greatest haste and secrecy. I am not so foolish," he looked carefully at each man, "as to be unaware there are traitors in this castle who would as soon side with England."
    "Who is it!" demanded Lord Darnley, staring around the circle.
    "Not me, my lord," said each man in turn. The torches flickered.
    "Nor I, my lord!"
    Another droplet swelled and fell to the floor with a loud plop.
    "Surely not I."

    * * *

    Smoky torches stood sentry at each side of the heavy wooden door, deeper yet in the dungeon than the lords had been. Flames threw eerie shadows high against the damp walls and far into the soaring roof of what had once been a cave. Shadows leapt and wound around MacDonald, demented spirits casting discouragement on