Insurrection by Robyn Young Page A

making the ascent. Niall was behind, scrabbling hand over foot, desperate to beat Thomas, despite being two years younger. Alexander was last by some distance, making his way up deliberately slow. Thomas won, slumping on the warm grass beside Robert, drawing breaths through his teeth. His tunic was drenched.
    Some moments later, Niall joined them. ‘How are you so fast?’
    Robert grinned at his youngest brother and lay back, letting the pain fade from his muscles.
    It was several minutes before Alexander reached them. His shadow fell across Robert. ‘We would have been quicker taking the track home,’ he said, clearly trying to stifle his breaths.
    ‘We haven’t been this way in years. Besides’ – Robert’s grin widened – ‘I wanted to see if I could still do it.’
    ‘You’ll always beat us. You’re the oldest,’ murmured Thomas, sitting up. His hair, wet with sweat, had flopped into his eyes. It was curly and blond like their little sister Christian’s. The rest of the children were dark like their mother, except for their fair half-sister, Margaret, married now and gone.
    ‘Alexander’s older than you and Niall,’ replied Robert, ‘and you both beat him.’
    ‘I didn’t try,’ responded Alexander tautly. ‘Now that you’ve won, let’s go back.’
    Robert sat up with a sigh. He was restless after weeks without training or schooling. The castle had been frantic with preparations for the attack, the adults tense and preoccupied. Each day, more knights arrived from towns and manors across Carrick, all vassals of their father. Robert knew most of them, for all, at one time, had paid homage to the earl, kneeling before him to take the sacred vow, their hands in his as they swore their undying loyalty in return for a grant of land. Just as their father held his lands by right of the king and was expected to serve in war, pay rents and perform duties such as the guarding of castles, the men of Carrick, by their act of homage, were required to fight for the earl. They brought with them their own squires and foot soldiers, each man armed, ready for the assault on Galloway.
    The chaotic coming and going had put their father in a foul temper and earlier, Robert and his brothers had slipped out of the gates, alone. The freedom away from the oppressive atmosphere and the earl’s harsh tones was a relief and the golden late afternoon was one of the most glorious since Robert had returned from Ireland. He wasn’t inclined to waste it. ‘Let’s stay a while longer.’
    ‘Someone will miss us. We’ve been gone almost an hour.’
    ‘Who will notice? Everyone is busy.’
    ‘Are you saying you won’t come?’
    Robert stared at his brother, standing above him, hands tight at his sides. Alexander had always been serious, even as a boy of Niall’s age, but lately he had become as sombre as a monk. He wondered at the change, so noticeable since his return from Antrim. He’d thought it might have something to do with their father; perhaps the earl had been hard on his brother in his absence? But their father still seemed to be most pleased with Alexander and Thomas, respectively the most obedient and quiet of the five brothers. An answer struck him. With him and Edward in fosterage in Ireland, Alexander had effectively become the oldest son in the household. Now he was back, perhaps his brother felt robbed of that place? Robert couldn’t feel sorry for him. Alexander had no idea how fortunate he was not to be the one on whom all the future hopes of their family were pinned. Especially, Robert mused darkly, when their father seemed determined to make it impossible for him to prove himself worthy of that great responsibility. ‘Go if you want,’ he said, lying back and closing his eyes. ‘I’m staying.’
    ‘You should both come,’ said Alexander, addressing Thomas and Niall. ‘Unless you want to feel Father’s belt.’
    Robert opened one eye a crack as Thomas pushed himself to his feet. He felt a knot