Insurrection by Robyn Young Page A

believe that is the motive behind their attacks. I feared the Bruces must have discovered our plan when the first reports came in. Now, with the fall of Buittle, I am certain of it. That meddler James Stewart has eyes and ears everywhere.’
    ‘You should have been more careful!’
    ‘Our intention to set you on the throne could not have remained secret for long.’ Comyn scowled. ‘Although admittedly we would have been better prepared to resist those who would compete with us if its discovery had been later.’
    ‘The Lord of Annandale isn’t competing for the throne. He has declared himself to be fighting in the name of the Maid of Norway.’
    ‘Maid of Norway?’
    ‘It is what they are calling Alexander’s granddaughter, Margaret.’ Balliol stared fiercely at his brother-in-law. ‘All will soon see him as some kind of saviour and me at best a brigand and at worst a treasonous wretch who has broken his oath and intends to steal the throne from a child! I might have lost everything, John!’
    ‘This isn’t finished yet, brother, and I wouldn’t worry about your reputation. The Lord of Annandale is doing far greater damage to his own. By their aggressions on Galloway the Bruces threaten to undermine the entire realm. I am making sure the growing resentment towards them is being used to our advantage.’
    Balliol didn’t respond, but fell into a tense silence as they passed out of the cloisters beneath a covered walkway that led to a gate in the precinct wall. Beyond, yellow fields rippled away, distorted by heat. The air was thick with insects that swarmed around the two men as they made their way across to the graveyard at the back of the towering church, the red brick walls of which cast a shadow across rows of wooden crosses. As they drew nearer, Comyn saw a young man crouched beside a mound of freshly turned earth.
    The youth got to his feet at their approach. ‘My lord,’ he said, bowing to Balliol and glancing apprehensively at Comyn. ‘I have done my chores. I swear my prayers for my father aren’t interfering with my duties.’
    ‘I’m not here to punish you,’ replied Balliol. ‘This man is my brother-in-law, Sir John Comyn, Justiciar of Galloway and Lord of Badenoch. He wishes to speak to you.’
    As the young man glanced at him again, Comyn saw how sunken his eyes were. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. Comyn guessed he was in late adolescence. He gestured for the young man to follow him, away from the grave. ‘Dungal, is it?’
    ‘Yes, sir, Dungal MacDouall.’
    ‘Tell me about the attack on Buittle, Dungal.’
    Comyn listened as the young man spoke. His voice, at first tentative, soon became clearer and stronger, until, as he described the murder of his father at the hands of the Earl of Carrick, it was rough with fury.
    ‘And you came here to tell Sir John what had befallen Buittle?’ said Comyn, when Dungal had finished.
    ‘Not at once,’ responded Dungal. ‘The rest of the men who were freed made for Sweetheart Abbey to inform Sir John and Lady Dervorguilla. I put my father’s body in their care and volunteered to keep watch on the castle to see where the Bruces were headed next.’
    ‘How long did you stay?’
    ‘Ten days.’
    ‘And in that time the Bruces made no move to leave?’ Comyn turned to Balliol. ‘When they seized Wigtown and Dumfries the Bruces established a garrison in both and then moved on, staying no more than a few days in either. Clearly, something detained them at Buittle.’
    ‘A rider came,’ said Dungal slowly, staring at Comyn. ‘I think on the fourth morning after they had taken the castle. I got a good view of him from my hiding place in the woods. He was let in at once.’ Dungal lowered his head to Balliol. ‘I am sorry, I had forgotten this.’ His eyes drifted to his father’s grave.
    ‘Did the rider wear any devices?’
    ‘His shield was gold, with a blue and white chequered band.’
    ‘The arms of the Stewarts,’ said