A look of stark terror came over Davie’s face as the dark pewter eyes of Douglas blazed into his Clearly he expected the man he had betrayed to dispatch him to Hell with his dripping broadsword.
Ram Douglas felt sick to his soul over the lack of decisive leadership. Discipline was the thing that won battles, in his opinion, and neither James Stewart nor the men he was leading to their destruction showed the slightest scrap of discipline. Ram snatched up Davie Kennedy’s bridle in a bloody hand. The betrayal was not foremost in his mind. All he saw to his great horror was the extreme youth of the boy. Surely he could not be any more than fourteen. He brandished his sword. “Flee! Flee this damned place, Davie lad!”
The boy turned his half-maddened horse and obeyed both Douglas and his own instincts. Ram Douglas’s borderers, along with Bothwell’s had vanquished the Cheshire men and now raced toward the English camp.
Lord Dacre, in charge of fifteen hundred horsemen, spurred forward to join battle with the borderers. Davie Kennedy in full retreat easily recognized Lord Dacre, whom he had known all his life. Fate must surely have been smiling on him this day. His enemy Douglas bade him flee, and the only man who stood in his path was a friend. As David cried out with relief, a sudden look of surprise altered all the features of his young face Dacre wielded his swordarm with deadly accuracy. Before he thundered past Davie Kennedy, he had sliced him open from throat to heart.
Dacre’s cavalry and the Scots borderers were well matched in a fiercely fought battle using swords, spears, and lances. The Earls of Lennox and the gnarled Argyll were engrossed watching the fighting below their ridge, when the clansmen were suddenly surprised by disciplined English bowmen bringing up the rearguard, led by Sir Edward Stanley. The rain of English arrows decimated the Stewarts and the Campbells, leaving Lennox and Argyll among their bloody dead.
The center of the field was becoming a slaughterhouse. The English footsoldiers were armed with a bill—a short shaft of oak topped with an ax blade and a curving hook. The Scots who carried the seven-foot-long French pikes were unbalanced as they advanced downhill. The Scots who stuck with their own familiar spears were no better off, for the English soldier simply lopped off the head of the Scots spears and killed their defenseless owners.
When Sir Edward Stanley’s bowmen finished off the Highlanders, they came down the ridge behind the Scots. Surrey and Stanley now had the core of James Stewart’s glorious army surrounded. They gave them no quarter One by one each commander died with his men. The Earls of Crawford, Erroll, and Montrose lay dead in the field.
James rode deep into the English Division with one target in mind. He knew that in a sword fight with Surrey, he would emerge the victor. He would have succeeded, but by the time he came face to face with the hated Lord Howard, the king’s body was riddled with arrows, and his head had been severed by an English bill.
Ramsay Douglas, as part of the left flank of the Scots army, fought on valiantly They were holding their own, but they suspected the other divisions were not faring as well. Mercifully they had no idea that James Stewart, King of Scots, lay dead on Flodden Field, along with twelve earls, two bishops, fifteen lords, and nearly ten thousand brave followers.
It was almost dark. Ram saw only the man in front of him. It was Jock, his first lieutenant, and he was in trouble Ram swung his broadsword with an arm that was numb with fatigue. He dispatched two of the English to hellfire, wounded another, and let out a satisfied Douglas war cry as he saw Jock’s horse stumble away. He swung Ruffian about on his hindquarters, and his eyes widened in shocked surprise. Where had all these Englishmen sprung from? Suddenly he was alone in a sea of English. It seemed to Ram that he and his destrier received their wounds at the same moment. As he took the steel, Ruffian went down beneath him. Ram struggled to arise, but it was impossible. A lance had pierced him through the belly and pinned him to the earth. He could neither feel nor move his legs, and yet he was aware of a great heaviness, as if Ruffian were lying on him. Ram Douglas was inured to pain, and he kept his mind tightly closed upon it, but there was a warm, comforting feeling seeping over him that he almost welcomed. So this was death, then. He sighed once, then everything went black His warm blood and Ruffian’s mingled as it seeped into the earth beneath their bodies.
Chapter 40
Lady Valentina Douglas found that she could settle to nothing. She felt like a prisoner in her own castle. If only she had been born a man! They had the easier role in life, riding off to glorious battle. Ram Douglas would cover himself with honors on the field of valor; then, when he rode home to her, he would be insufferable.
Tina caught back a sob and fled out upon the parapet walk. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to prevent the sob from escaping, for she knew if she uttered one, a hundred, a thousand, or perhaps a million would follow it. When he rode home to her, when he rode home to her.
A whole month had dragged past since that day at the beginning of August when he had wed her and ridden off to war. There was nothing glorious about war, she finally admitted. It was hideous, it was obscene, it was madness. She dashed the tears from her eyes and searched the hills endlessly as she had done morning, noon, and evening since Ram had departed.
Tina had never been one to admit fear. When its specter had raised its ugly head, she had denied it vehemently, laughed in its face, and miraculously the fear had always receded. Up until now. This time she had allowed fear to gain a stranglehold upon her, and she knew that any minute she would lose control.
Her hands began to tremble as they cupped her abdomen. It was their special miracle that she had conceived another child so quickly. Would Fate cheat her once again? She hadn’t told him of the baby, and now Ram might die without ever learning of the child. She cursed herself for not telling him. The knowledge would somehow have protected him, given him reason to live at all costs and return home to her—to them.
Something inside her exploded, and she knew if she stayed cooped up one more day, she would go insane. “Ada, Ada!” She picked up her skirts and ran to find her “I’m going to court. News will reach Edinburgh long before it comes to Douglas”
“Do you think that wise?” Ada asked doubtfully, knowing a dutiful wife’s place was at home until her lord returned to her.
“Wise?” questioned Tina. “When the hell did I ever do a thing because it was wise? Pack our things immediately— we’ll leave at sunup. I will not wait longer!” Suddenly Tina’s knees turned to water, and she sagged down onto a stool. “Ada, the truth is I cannot wait longer. Disaster is in the very air I breathe. I cannot shake off this feeling of impending doom.”
“I doubt if any of the men will desert their posts and disobey Ram’s orders to escort you to Edinburgh.”
“Mr. Burque! We will take Mr. Burque. You pack, I’ll ask him now.”
When Mr. Burque saw her and heard the hysterical note in her voice, he understood completely that she could no longer remain passively waiting. He realized she might not be taking the right action, but for Tina in this state, any action at all was better than none.
“Rider approaching!” came the cry from the gate. Tina forgot what she was saying to Mr. Burque. Her feet flew over the flagstones, through the studded castle door, and out into the courtyard. She raced across the drawbridge, then went rigid where she stood as Heath thundered up to the portcullis, dismounted, and swept a protective arm about her
“All is lost. Our army went down in defeat, Tina. The king is dead. Every earl who fought with him is dead. There are mountains of dead lying on Flodden field!”
“No!” Tina snarled.
“Yes, love. The Scots went down in defeat, I’m sorry to say. It was total annihilation.” He smoothed back her wild red tresses with a gentle hand.
“No! Don’t touch me!” she screamed.
He swung her into strong arms and carried her toward the castle. “Angus is less than an hour behind me. I met up with him at dawn. He’s devastated.”
Heath carried Tina int
o the hall. “Whisky,” he ordered the first servant he saw. He propped her on the wooden settle and held the raw liquor to her lips just as Ada arrived on the scene. Tina knocked the whisky to the floor, her golden eyes blazing with anger. She tried to struggle to her feet, but Heath held her down with one strong arm. He repeated what he knew to Ada: “I came straight from the battlefield. The Gypsies made camp at Kelso, not ten miles from Flodden. Archibald Kennedy, Earl of Cassillis, is dead. I don’t know about our father, Tina.”
“No! Let me go!” she cried.
“Tina, where are you going?” Heath asked wearily.
“Hush lass, hush,” he soothed. “There hasn’t been time to identify all yet, but the list is already long. The king is confirmed, and Crawford. So is Argyll, Lennox, Montrose, and even Bothwell.” His voice cracked. “Early reports say a hundred Kennedys—two hundred Douglas.”
“No!” Tina eluded him and stood defiantly, hands dug into her hips, tossing her disheveled hair back over her shoulders. “The king may very well be dead, and Lennox and Montrose and Cassillis and Crawford, and even Both-well and Argyll, but Black Ram Douglas is not dead, so do not repeat your foul lies to me!”
Ada was white and shaking. She exchanged meaningful glances with Heath. Both of them knew Tina was about to give them more trouble than she’d ever dished out in her life. “Are you packed and ready? We will leave today rather than tomorrow.”
Ada again looked at Heath. “We were leaving for Edinburgh tomorrow. Perhaps it would be best if she joined the court.”
Tina looked at Ada as if she had lost her reason. “I’m not going to court now, you fool, I’m going to England, to Flodden.”
“Stop it, Tina!” Heath said severely. “You cannot go there. The carnage is unbelievable. ‘Tis like a massive slaughterhouse of bodies and body parts.”
“You don’t understand,” Tina said fiercely. “Ram and I were married before he left at the beginning of August. I’m Lady Douglas. I must find my husband.”
Heath was heartsore for his beloved young sister. “Tina, I will go and search for his body. If I am lucky enough to find him, I’ll bring him home to you.”
“Thank you, Heath, but that won’t be necessary. I am going myself.”
Heath was alarmed. He knew what Tina was like when she got something fixed in her head. He knew he would have to physically restrain her and was contemplating getting her drunk when Angus and his small Douglas escort clattered into the bailey.
Heath said to Ada, “I hope you have an adequate supply of whisky on hand. It’s the first thing Angus will call for.”
Ada sent a servant to fetch a barrel, and as Archibald Douglas entered the hall, the first word out of his mouth was “Whisky!” Angus flung off his gauntlets and sank wearily into a chair.
Tina came to him and laid her hand upon his shoulder. It seemed to her he had aged a dozen years since the last time she had spoken with him. “I’m so sorry, Angus, that the king is dead.”
He lifted his eyes to hers, thinking her the bravest lass alive to be comforting him when she needed comfort herself. “I feel the loss o’ Ramsay far more keenly than I do the loss o’ the king,” he admitted.
“Ram isn’t dead, Angus. We were wed before he left. I’m going to find him and bring him home.”
Angus searched her face, then his eyes sought Heath’s. Heath gave a helpless shrug.
“There is no need fer that, Valentina. My men will find him. We are on our way now tae gather our dead, as is every other clan in Scotland. The hearts o’ Douglas heroes are always buried beneath the altar in the chapel.”
Tina pressed her hands over her ears. “Stop it! You all look at me as if I am deranged, but I know he is alive! Ram and I are not just man and wife—we are bonded, we are one! Don’t you think I would know if he were dead?” she cried. “Go and gather your dead, Angus! My brother tells me there are over a hundred Kennedys and two hundred Douglases. I will never allow England to keep him. I found him there once before against all odds, and I shall find him again. You seek the dead, and I shall seek the living. Excuse me—I must see if Mr. Burque is ready.”
Heath and Ada and Angus looked bleakly after Tina’s determined figure. “It is a sort o’ temporary madness that keeps us sane, if ye understand me,” explained Angus.
“I understand,” said Heath quietly. “She will never let go until she sees for herself how impossible it is to find one man among ten thousand corpses. I’ll go with her. She will need me when she sees and smells Flodden.”
Ada said quietly, “I too will go”
Angus sighed. “So be it We’ll go together.”
As Tina helped Mr. Burque gather the things they might need, he was the only one in the castle who didn’t think her temporarily deranged. He marveled at how much she had matured since she had left Castle Doon just over a year ago. She gave one hundred percent of herself in any undertaking—that was her secret. That was the reason any man who had ever met her lost his heart to her. Tina lived life with a passion, experiencing all its joys and all its sorrows, yet she never let it defeat her, no matter the blows it dealt out to her Just as now, instead of being prostrate with grief, she was being practical, efficient, and tenacious as a terrier.
“We may need linen for bandages,” she reminded him. “What else will we need besides poppy and rue for pain?”
“I think yarrow would be advisable,” Mr. Burque said quietly.
“Yarrow?” Her lovely brows drew together. “It’s a yellow powder to sprinkle on wounds to clot the blood.”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed, crossing herself. “I’ll get needles and thread, just in case.”
Within the hour they were in the saddle. The weather was glorious, showing off to perfection the unequaled beauty of the border country through which they rode. The sun shone so brilliantly, it seemed a sacrilege when the flower of Scotland’s nobility lay dead and defeated on the field of valor. Surely the gods themselves should be weeping in their heavens at the almost total annihilation of such a proud realm!
Tina’s back was straight as a ramrod. Ram’s wolfhound loped along at her side. None had argued when she insisted the Boozer accompany them.
Angus had thought to set an easy pace, but the decision was taken from his hands. Valentina rode at breakneck speed that carried her far ahead of everyone save Heath. It was up to the others to keep pace or fall behind. She paid them not the slightest attention. Her mind was focused upon one thing, one goal.
When dark descended she would have ridden on, oblivious to whether it was day or night. Finally Heath dragged on her reins with his superior strength and dragged her mount to a halt. He could see she was ready to fly at him. He knew she was reckless enough to carry on alone if they refused to accompany her, so Heath said the only thing he thought might stop her. His voice was harsh and dispassionate as he laid the blunt facts before her.
“Tina, if you ride farther tonight, you will kill the horse. I know you don’t give a fiddler’s damn for poor old Angus, but I don’t believe you want animal abuse on your conscience.”
Tina was immediately contrite. Angus’s men set up campaign tents, and she, along with the men, wrapped herself in a Douglas plaid and tried to curb her insatiable impatience until the hour before dawn. Her fists clutched the dark blue and green plaid in desperation as the hours dragged slowly by. She was alone at last to think, without the others hemming her in with their anxious eyes upon her. What had they expected from her? Tears? Fainting? Hysterics? These were petty, womanish things, not nearly adequate to assuage the rage she felt within her! She wanted to lift her hand and destroy the universe and everybody in it.
An irreverent inner voice mocked, You need not destroy Scotland, she has destroyed herself!
She bit her lips in impotent frustration. She would sell her soul for a handful of thunderbolts. Just one fistful of deadly thunderbolts would do nicely. One for Henry Tudor, and another for that ugly bitch, Margaret Tudor. The Howards needed destroying, and that s
wine Dacre who had arrested Ram. She wanted to call down fire and brimstone upon each of them and watch them burn in the everlasting fires of Hell.
By first light, she accepted the fact that she could do nothing except mount her horse, straighten her back, hold her head high and resume her mask.
As they rode closer to the English border, they passed many mounted groups both coming and going. All had the same destination, all the same heartbreaking task: to gather their dead, their mortally wounded, their maimed.
Carrion crows circled in the sky above the battlefield, and if this did not tell them they were close, the stench did. As they sat upon Flodden Edge, the hot wind wafted up a smell like nothing they had ever experienced. Gunpowder, excrement, blood, horse sweat, rotting flesh, and the evil, sweet smell of death formed a miasma that insinuated itself into the nostrils, mouths, and throats of any who were foolish enough to approach the carnage.
“Abattoir,” murmured Mr. Burque hopelessly.
Angus thought that once Tina had glimpsed the horror of a battlefield with its mountain of dead men and horses, she would give up the unthinkable task of searching for Ram. Heath and Mr. Burque, however, knew her better than that.
As she squared her shoulders and urged her mount down to the field, they resigned themselves to aid her in her fruitless search. She went slowly now, carefully, painstakingly picking her way through the bodies riddled with arrows. Some were headless, many more were missing arms and legs. Some of these were still alive, and Tina closed her ears and her heart to their pitiful moans. Ada tried to emulate the courage of Lady Douglas, but when she saw a gang of looters stripping bodies of knives and badges, she was violently sick. Tina immediately attended to her and tore a strip from her fine shift to wipe Ada’s face. When there was no more Tina could do for her, she moved on.
She decided not to remount but stepped delicately between the dead, leading her horse behind her. Finally, even the horse revolted at the mounds of quivering horseflesh, crying in their death throes. It shook its head wildly, blew through its nostrils, and took off toward a dozen or more destriers who had survived the battle and were patiently awaiting their masters at the edge of a stream whose waters still ran red.