Free Worth Dying For (The Bruce Trilogy) by N. Gemini Sasson

Confusion fogged my mind. I rubbed at a neck so stiff I could barely look up. Torquil stooped over me, his pale lips buzzing with words that made no sense. Knees drawn up to my face, I cupped my head in my hands, grumbling at him in irritation.
    “Wood and flint,” I muttered into my forearms. “Any colder in here and I will damn well freeze to death.”
    “Later, you must... down to the shore... don’t know who –”
    “The shore?” I slid my arms down my shins to peer at him, letting his words slowly sort themselves in my muddled mind. “What’s down there?”
    “Who.”
    “Fine – who?”
    He shrugged. “Two galleys in the bay. One taking on water.”
    Boyd had taken two galleys when he left for the mainland.
    Into the darkening night I raced, down the treacherous cliff path and out to water’s edge. Boyd’s curses roared above the slap of rain turning to sleet. His boat crept into the little bay and lagged as they bailed the freezing water from it furiously. A vigorous wind pushed seawater over the gunwales and the boat pitched sideways, tossing two men over. Arms flailed above the surface. Someone grabbed a hand and pulled one of the men aboard. The other bobbed up and down, his body drifting further and further from the boat, even as he tried to swim back to it. A wave swelled up behind him, its crest rising in a ragged line of white like a lion’s gaping jaws. Then, the wave surged and broke, the sea swallowing him whole.
    Torquil and a few others were already pushing one of the landed galleys out into the water to go to Boyd’s rescue. The two boats touched and Boyd and his men tumbled one by one into Torquil’s vessel.
    James stood at my side, the sleet cutting at our faces as we squinted into the dark, cold wetness.
    Finally, swearing and stumbling, Boyd straggled ashore with a sack of money flung over his back. He slammed it at my feet and pitched forward. James caught him by the wrist and slipped beneath his arm to support him.
    Boyd shivered violently. “Your rents,” he muttered between chattering teeth.
    “A bit bedraggled you are, but alive.” I reached toward him. “Come. We’ll sit you by the fire and dry you out. Alexander has just returned from Antrim with the Irishman Malcolm MacQuillan and a fierce host. He brought ale with him, half a galley-full I swear.”
    “No, no. You’ll want to hear this first.” Boyd took several ragged breaths, then raised his chin. He spoke from blue lips in an airy voice, like some ghost risen from the grave. “The English laid siege to Kildrummy. Nigel was there. He held it a long time... bravely. The English, near to giving up, promised gold to anyone inside who would give them access.” He drooped. His knees almost gave way. James tightened an arm about his waist to hold him up. “Then, the blacksmith Osborne, who had tired of the hardship, set the stores of corn on fire. Everything burned. Even the castle gate. When they finally took the castle –”
    He broke off as Alexander darted through the stabbing rain and skidded to a halt beside me, kicking flakes of shingle out into the water.
    “They melted the gold and poured it down Osborne’s throat.” Boyd slumped against James, his eyelids flapping shut and then open, as though he struggled to remain conscience. “They took Nigel to Berwick, where he... was hanged and beheaded.”
    I dropped to my knees. My heart had turned to ice. “Elizabeth? Marjorie? What of them?”
    Boyd leaned into James and shook his head. “I don’t know. Only that the womenfolk left with the Earl of Atholl shortly before the English came. They never made it to Orkney.”
    “You don’t know? How can you not know?” I leapt to my feet and grabbed the front of his shirt, yelling into his face, “My wife and my daughter were with him! How can you not know what happened to them?”
    “Robert.” Alexander hooked my arm to drag me toward the nearest house. He gestured for James to follow. “Boyd wasn’t