“He killed him?” “Aye, or at the least his man finished the deed once ’twas begun. To have done so in the holy sanctuary of a church was no small sin and I can only believe that the Robert the Bruce I know and serve would have had just cause. I heard tell that John had betrayed Robert’s plans to the English and done so far too soon for comfort, but ’tis not a topic upon which Robert the Bruce will tolerate discussion.” Morgaine frowned at that and might have protested, but Alasdair continued determinedly with his tale. “’Twas certain the English would hunt any man who killed one of their own - let alone one conspiring to make himself king - and war was in the wind once more. Robert the Bruce hied himself to Scone, his supporters in his wake.” Alasdair smiled, recalling that sunny summer’s day they had lolled on Moot Hill and heard the tale recounted. “Imagine the sight, if you dare. A fine spring day, a heatherclad hill and pennants snapping in the breeze, great stallions of war stamping on the perimeter.
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