The melee became a bloodbath as the very ground that had constrained the English forces hampered their escape. The Bannock Burn, which stood in their way, became a giant burial pit as it filled to the top with bodies of men and horses. The Scots took to plunder—not only the bodies of the dead but the rich baggage train that Edward had laboriously brought with them.

And it seemed the biggest prize of all just might be in Bruce’s reach. Surprised by the aggressiveness of the Scot attack, and the inability of his cavalry to penetrate, King Edward had been caught unawares. Only thanks to the insistence of Pembroke and the famed Gascon knight Sir Giles d’Argentan was he forced from the battlefield, Despenser and de Beaumont fleeing alongside him.

Douglas was sent after them.

But with or without a royal hostage, Robert the Bruce had his great victory on the battlefield. The one that would finally ensure Scotland’s independence and give God’s validation to his claim to the throne.

Along the boggy carse of the battlefield, the grass and peaty pols now turned red with blood as the English fled and the Scots put down the last pockets of resistance, a great cheer went up. It was the cheer of a country that had fought for eighteen years for this moment—since Edward I of England had decimated Berwick in 1296, provoking the risings of William Wallace and Andrew Murray a year later. Scotland had its freedom.

Alex, who’d fought during the battle alongside his former compatriots but had hardly been welcomed, joined in, but perhaps without the enthusiasm of back slaps, happy embraces, and arm pumping.

He stood apart with his men who had joined Bruce at the start of the battle as he’d planned and started to take inventory of their injuries—his own would wait—when he sensed a familiar shadow move up behind him.

He stiffened—defensively—and turned.

“You saved my life,” Boyd said, his expression stony. “I owe you my thanks.”

Alex shook his head. “You don’t owe me shite. Forget about it.”

Boyd stood there staring at him, almost as if he knew what Alex was thinking. He didn’t want gratitude, but forgiveness was about the last thing he could ever expect from his former partner.

“What made you decide to come back? Not that it wasn’t impeccably timed, riding into the rescue at the last minute. Bruce was ready to call for the retreat when you arrived with your information and persuaded him to fight.”

“Does it really matter?”

Boyd held his stare and shrugged. “I guess not.”