Free Rivals for the Crown by Kathleen Givens Page B

for a while longer, then found their beds, Liam in his comfortable room, Rory and Kieran down the hall in less sumptuous surroundings. Liam had handed them a wine bag as they'd left, and Rory shared it with Kieran now.
    "D'ye think there will be a war?" Kieran asked, then took a mouthful of wine.
    "Could be," Rory said, stretching out on the cot he'd been given. Outside, the rain drummed on the tile roof of the hall, and he pulled the cover over his shoulder, glad to be inside.
    "Who will we fight for?" Kieran asked.
    "Balliol, I guess. Ye heard Liam. He has no use for the Bruces. Neither does my da, so I'm thinking we'd fight for Balliol."
    "I'm ready!"
    Rory laughed. "Drink a bit more wine and ye'll be starting a war of yer own."
    "Are ye not ready to fight for a good cause?"
    "I am for the right cause."
    Kieran slept then, but Rory lay awake in the dark, wondering what lay ahead. He felt as though he stood on the threshold of something, but he had no idea whether it was wise or foolish to step forward. Or if he had a choice. His father, he knew, often had dreams that foretold the future. Not for the first time, Rory wished he'd inherited the gift.
    The morning was clear and bright, with the promise of warmth later, and they were anxious to get on the road while the weather held. They had breakfast with Liam in the large hall teeming with soldiers and men from all parts of Scotland, then set out, heading east to Edinburgh.
    When they went to the stable to collect their horses, the lad greeted them, asking their names.
    "MacDonald," Kieran said.
    "MacGannon."
    The lad's eyes widened. He pointed down the line of stalls and fled.
    Kieran and Liam exchanged a look as Rory walked slowly past the other stalls, some empty, some containing horses that watched him pass. There was Kieran's horse, but not his. The stall at the end was empty. Or so he thought at first, but then he caught a glimpse of something dark on the floor. He leaned closer.
    "Jesu!" Kieran, at his shoulder, covered his mouth and turned away.
    The horse's throat had been cut. It had bled to death on the floor of the stable, the blood spreading through the hay to stain the whole space.
    "They ken ye're here, lad," Liam said quietly.
    FOUR
    Rory bought another horse in Stirling village, ignoring the
    glances thrown his way as they left. The day seemed colder than before, and he found himself looking over his shoulder much too often. Liam accompanied them for an hour, leaving them at a crossroad, but not before lecturing them again.
    "Berwick's a bit rough, ye ken. Not all of it, of course. The Flemish are all over and the Dutch are there now, too, and God kens a host of English. Ye'll be sending messengers home with news?"
    "Aye. If we hear of anything important, we'll send them to ye as well."
    "Stay alert." Liam paused, frowning. "Shall I see ye to Falkirk?"
    "And tuck us in our beds?" Rory asked. "I'm thinking no."
    Liam held out a hand to each of them. "Remember, they ken who ye are, but ye dinna ken who they are. It looks like a whole
    bunch of MacDonnells have decided to go after ye. There's no law right now in Scotland. Dinna depend on the goodness of man. Safe journey, lads. Guard yer backs, aye?"
    "We'll do that," Rory said.
    In Falkirk they learned little new information, hearing the same discussions about the rivals for the crown repeated endlessly. They also heard the story of the murderous Rory MacGannon, who had killed four men with his bare hands, then raped a family of women. He fought the urge to defend himself and his name. He kept his head down and said nothing, but he wondered how high the tally would go before people stopped believing it.
    In Edinburgh, where many of the Eastern Highlanders and Border families had men stationed, they heard no more about Rory MacGannon—only political talk. And here they heard some news from the Continent, and that King Edward, and the forces that had accompanied him, were lingering in the English Midlands.
    They