Free Insurrection: Renegade [02] by Robyn Young

impact still drove him to his knees. He shoved back fiercely with his own blade, sending his opponent stumbling away, but the man recovered quickly. Swiping at his forehead with the back of his gloved hand, wiping a stroke of blood across his brow, he came in again. Pushing up from his knees, Robert launched forward, taking the man by surprise. He roared with the effort, propelling him into a tree trunk. The force knocked the breath from the man’s lungs and the sword from his hand. Fear flooded his eyes, as Robert brought up his broadsword.
    ‘ Earl Robert! ’
    The sound of his name blasted through his concentration. In the periphery of his vision, Robert saw that one of the knights had hold of Cormac, one hand grasping a fistful of his hair, the other pressing the blade of a sword against his throat.
    ‘Lower your sword,’ came the knight’s voice. ‘Or I’ll slit the bastard’s neck.’
    Robert paused, his gaze flicking back to the man in front of him, pinned to the tree trunk at the mercy of his blade. Even through the blood-lust that pounded in him with the desire to finish the fight, Robert knew the threat wasn’t idle. The death of an Irishman, even a nobleman, would mean little to these men. The penalty for killing a native was much less than it was for the murder of an Englishman.
    Slowly, he backed away, breathing hard. Lowering his sword, he placed it on the ground in front of him. The knight who had hold of Cormac didn’t relinquish his grip. There were six others with him, three mounted, the rest on foot. Two of the men held mastiffs on leashes. The dogs strained at the bonds, growling.
    Keeping his eyes on Robert, the man in blue bent to pick up his fallen blade. He hefted it, jaw pulsing with anger, but made no move towards Robert. Instead, he gestured to his three mounted comrades. ‘Follow the others. Take the dogs. I think he gave the staff to one of his men.’ He looked back at Robert. ‘Who was it? One of your brothers?’ He stepped forward, his sword levelled at Robert’s chest. ‘Tell me.’
    The air filled with a ferocious barking as a grey shape hurtled out of the undergrowth.
    ‘ Esgar! ’ came a warning cry.
    The man in blue turned, startled, as Uathach leapt at him, her jaws stretching wide. He just had time to thrust up with his sword, before she was on him. The blade caught the hound in mid-air, punching through the soft skin of her stomach. Uathach howled as the blade was withdrawn in a spray of red and she was sent sprawling. Robert roared in fury at the sight of his beloved hound, daughter of his grandfather’s favourite bitch, curled in agony in a pool of her own spreading blood. He lunged for the man, meaning to tear him apart with his hands, but was grabbed roughly by two of the knights.
    The man in the blue cloak turned on him, his blade gleaming with Uathach’s blood. ‘You should have stayed in Scotland, Sir Robert.’
     
     
    Glenarm, Ireland, 1301 AD
     
    Adam walked his white charger through the streets of Glenarm, between rows of wattle houses daubed with clay and peat. The horse’s hooves sank in the dung and refuse packed down deep in the mud. It was market day and the town was crowded with farmers leading livestock into the square where a cluster of stalls had been erected. The clanking bells around the necks of goats and cows made a hollow cacophony. As a flock of sheep was driven in front of him, Adam slowed his horse, but kept his gaze on the young man in the russet tunic hurrying ahead of the jostling animals, a large basket carried awkwardly under his arm.
    It was a bright March morning, the sea dark blue, hemmed with white along the shoreline where a river bubbled into the bay. Fishing boats bobbed on the tide, the men hauling up wicker baskets crawling with crabs and lobsters. There was a buoyant atmosphere in the little port, the inhabitants stirred by the promise of spring and the breath of warmth in the salty air. A woman pushed pale domes of dough