Kingdom by Robyn Young Read Free Book Online Page B

sword in a savage downward cut, Robert felt the concussive impact as the blade crashed into the falling knight’s back, but he didn’t see what damage was done as he was swept into the battle, flooded with that familiar vertiginous thrill, caught somewhere between terror and excitement.
    It was a tight ground, hemmed in by trees and the spreading fire. Without the encasement of his helm, Robert had a wide view of the battle. He glimpsed a few dozen mounted Scots on the other side of a press of English knights. James Stewart was there, alongside James Douglas and Gilbert de la Hay. Before Robert could break his way through to them, a sword slashed at his face. He ducked and raised his shield, the crack of the blade biting into the wood harsh in his ears. Shoving the sword away, he punched his own weapon into his attacker’s side. The tip tore the rings of the English knight’s mail and drove the padding beneath into his flesh. Robert twisted the blade in the wound, before wrenching it free. The knight doubled over. As his horse pitched forward, he was tossed down among the pummelling hooves where scores of dead already clogged the ground.
    Robert felt something thump into his back, but the impact was lessened as Hunter buckled, his hoof skidding in something slippery. The horse lurched upright in the press of men and animals. Robert went to strike at another knight, but found himself carried deeper into the fray by a sudden shift in the tide of the battle. Many of the Scottish peasants, bloodied and exhausted, were falling back, allowing the cavalry to surge forward. Some remained, most of them Highlanders with their long, lethal axes. One thick-necked man, close to Robert, roared as he chopped his blood-slicked weapon into the head of an English knight’s horse. Wrenching it free as the animal collapsed, the Scot brought the axe swinging solidly into the knight’s chest with a splintering of bones.
    Robert heard John of Atholl shouting behind him, but he dared not turn, acutely aware of the blades carving all around him, horribly exposed without his helm. A man on foot came at him from the side, face contorted, soaked in blood. Robert blocked his blow. Their swords crossed in mid-air with a clash that shuddered through his arm. He battered away a second strike, before hacking at the man’s neck. The man hoisted his shield to block. As Robert’s sword smacked into the wood he saw the symbol painted upon it: a white lion on a blue background. Stunned, he left his defences open.
    The man’s eyes widened in anticipation and he lunged again. Suddenly, there was a volley of ferocious barking and a blur of motion. The man’s sword went wide, missing Robert by inches, as Fionn leapt at him. He went down screaming, the hound on top of him, ripping bloody chunks from his face. Looking around him, Robert now saw white lions everywhere, on shields and surcoats, dotted among the arms of Pembroke and the myriad colours of his own men. The reason for Galloway’s brooding emptiness was suddenly clear. The Disinherited had joined the English.
    Robert’s gaze locked on James Stewart, some distance away, surrounded by English knights. Malcolm of Lennox was converging on his position, along with Simon Fraser, both men fighting savagely, but even as Robert watched, James’s horse rose up, a spear embedded in its neck. He yelled, seeing the animal go down, the steward disappearing beneath the seething tide of men. James Douglas was battling to reach his uncle, but he had been unhorsed and was no match for the knights amassing all around him. Robert glimpsed Gilbert de la Hay grabbing hold of the young man’s cloak, pulling him back while fending off blows with great strokes of his broadsword. Malcolm of Lennox had been cornered. Simon Fraser had disappeared.
    Another Scot marked with the white lion of Galloway rushed in at Robert. The man checked his blow at the last second, his face registering shock. He lunged instead for Hunter’s