Connor crept through bracken, brambles, and thistles—being careful not to raise the attention of the English. When he reached a copse of trees at the north end of what was now a battlefield, he lowered himself into a crouched position. His heart sank as he surveyed the carnage. How could this have happened? Why did I survive when so many of my comrades perished? The Scottish army of nearly four thousand men came to Perth prepared to fight, but when Aymer de Valence refused to meet the challenge, the Bruce ordered them to make camp outside the village of Methven. He had not anticipated a predawn raid by three thousand English soldiers. Unable to sleep, his dreams plagued by thoughts of Cailin, Connor had gone to the stream to bathe and cool the fire in his loins. When he heard men shouting and the clash of metal, he raced back to the camp, but it was too late. Many of the men died as they slept. They never heard the blackguards coming. The Scots fought bravely, but they were caught unawares.
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