The King of England might call him friend, but he did not trust him. They were alone in his private chamber, but Lochmaben Castle belonged to Edward now, and Bruce was being watched. “Is it safe?” the bishop asked.īruce nodded. But Bruce did not let the prelate’s unthreatening appearance fool him, for behind the inauspicious mask lurked a mind as nimble, shrewd, and cunning as King Edward’s himself. With his round, boyish face and cold, reddened nose, he had the look of a hare sensing danger. Lowering his voice, he steeled himself for the rest. Bruce did the same, but the pungent fruitiness of the wine soured in his mouth.

Lamberton accepted it with a murmur of thanks and took a long drink. Andrews, was drenched to the skin and looked ready to collapse from exhaustion, as if he had been the one to ride day and night from London with the news himself.īruce poured a cup of dark red wine from the flagon on the side table and sat beside him. He motioned for his friend to sit on the wooden bench and warm himself by the fire. He had everything to lose.īruce forced back the errant thoughts and acknowledged the prelate’s pronouncement with a grim nod. ’Twas a heavy burden and, as Wallace’s death had proved, a deadly one.

The torch would pass to him-if he chose to take it. The hope that the brave-hearted Wallace had lit in his heart-in the heart of every Scotsman who chaffed under the yoke of English tyranny-flickered. Though death had been inevitable for Wallace since his capture a few weeks ago, expectation did not lessen the crushing blow of finality. Shall be my brother - William Shakespeare, King Henry V, Act 4, Scene IIIįor a moment, Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, Lord of Annandale, and one-time joint Guardian of Scotland, couldn’t speak. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers įor he to-day that sheds his blood with me

From this day to the ending of the world,

The Chief by Monica McCarty