Wyntoun's War or the "Rough Wooing" of my 19th Great-Grandmother

I’m taking a small break this month from the Bruce sisters.  I promise to finish up next month with Maud, Margaret and Mary de Brus.  Due to two new roofs and other demanding needs, I just wasn't able to devote the time I need for the remaining trio.  Instead, I will speak of some Bruce relations, for they are of the blood, cousins.  But, more importantly, this tale is about love, romance, and a lovers dash to Edinburgh Castle—that may or may not have been a kidnapping—and the man and woman who were my 19th great-grandparents.

Wyntoun's War 
or the Rough Wooing of my 19th Great-Grandmother.

At the start of 1343, Lady Margaret de Seton was suddenly thrust into the role of heiress to her father, Lord Alexander de Seton, governor of Berwick Castle.  The Setons were longtime supporters of Clan Bruce, and even married into it.  Alexander was the brother of Sir Christopher Seton, who wed Christian de Brus (sister to Robert the Bruce).  You might recall from my previous article about this Bruce sister that Christopher was Christian’s second husband, and he gave his life defending the Bruce women when they were trying to flee the English in 1306.  Over the decades, the Setons were recognized for their loyalty and rewarded by Bruce, and they continued to support his son David II at the cost of their lives.

Margaret de Seton, born around 1330, was Alexander’s last child and only daughter.  She became heiress to her father’s vast wealth at a young age, and not a position she had anticipated inheriting.  She had four valiant warriors for older brothers—Alexander, John, William and Thomas.  If one fell, another would assume the titles and lands rightfully his.  Some historians dismissively list her as Alexander Seton’s granddaughter, and instead, put her as the daughter of her brother, Alexander.  A couple try to fix her as daughter of John, another brother, (likely because she became heiress after John’s death).  These careless mix-ups really cause snarls, which few show interest in fixing.  Both Alexanders—father and son—were at Berwick Castle at the time of the siege of 1332-3, so for starters, they tend to blur the two Alexanders into one person, which they are not.  The father outlived the son by over a decade.  Margaret clearly was the daughter of Alexander the elder and Christian le Chenyne (granddaughter of Isabella Macduff, countess of Buchan—the woman who crowned Bruce king).  However, the confusion doesn’t end there.  Her mother’s name was Christian, and her uncle Christopher married Christian de Brus, thus many are now listing Christopher and Bruce’s sister as her parents, which they are not.  Christopher died in 1306, long before Margaret came along.

In the late summer of 1332, Alexander—the father—was governor of Berwick Castle, when a siege was laid.  His defense of the fortress cost him three of his sons. Margaret’s brothers died valiantly in the continued struggle against Edward Balliol and Edward III.  Alexander, was killed in the Battle of Kinghorn, where the son of John Balliol was trying to land in Scotland so he might claim the Scottish crown for himself.  William also died in the same fight, drowned in repulsing the landing.  A third brother, Thomas, was captured.  Seton called for a truce, which was granted, but only on condition that he surrender if not relieved by the Scots before the 11th of July.  They were relieved by riders, men under Sir William Keith, Sir Alexander Gray and Sir William Prenderguest. Only Edward III of England said the riders came from the English side of the border, not Scottish, so the castle was not “relieved from Scotland” and thus he proceeded to execute Thomas and ten other men held prisoner.  Alexander and his wife were forced to watch as Thomas was hanged, drawn and quartered before the gates of the town.  Keith took command of the town from Alexander (small wonder), and negotiated a second truce which held—an unconditional surrender to the English, but it allowed all the Scots to leave unharmed.

Around the mid-1340s tragedy again strikes the Setons.  Twice.  First, Sir Alexander dies around 1343, and the title goes to the remaining son, Sir John.  Only, three years later, John dies at the Battle of Neville’s Cross in Durham, England.  And dies without issue.  Some list him as marrying a Margaret Ruthven and having a son, Alexander, but that is likely an echo of the mess they have created with Seaton and his son, who died at the Battle of Kinghorn.  I believe this to be false, because had there been a son, that child would’ve inherited the estate of his grandfather, not his aunt, Margaret.  For Margaret to become heiress it clearly means John didn’t have a child for the estate to go to, and as John’s younger sister, Margaret was next in line.

So, there in a space of less than three years, she loses her father, and his final son, John, dies in battle.  A lot of heartache facing a young woman.  With the passing of her father and brother, she is suddenly a very rich heiress—and target of greedy young men everywhere.

As you might assume, Sir Alexander was popular in the hearts of the people of East Lothian, in his never failing support around the Bruce family.  He had sacrificed a brother and three sons in protecting Bruce’s rule and his legacy, and finally the fourth son had died in the same service.  The prominence of the Seton family had risen, along with that of the Stewarts and Bruces.  Thus, the people of East Lothian felt a protectiveness toward young Margaret.  Only, others hoped to latch onto her wealth and the power of her name, so the young woman was nearly crushed in the stampede of suitors for her hand.

Into the middle of this story rides one dashing and handsome Baron Alan de Wyntoun, son of Alan de Wynton and Margaret Murray (de Moray).   This new Margaret really complicates matters in trying to keep things reasonably straight, because she is the granddaughter of Christian de Brus.  Yeah, Excedrin headache 113, and it only gets worse!  She was also the granddaughter of Thomas Randolph, 1st earl of Moray—Bruce’s nephew.  I know you are really hating all these tangled lines, but I needed to demonstrate why a small knight, a vassal of Sir Alexander Seton, would take it upon himself to swoop in and abduct Margaret.  I am assuming, though the Wyntouns, who took vows of homage and fealty to the mighty Setons, they felt they had as much right to status and position through their close lineage to the Bruces and the Randolphs.

Emboldened by the blood in his veins, Alan carried off Margaret in what the Scots called a “rough wooing”.  Well, hadn’t Marjorie Carrick snatched Robert Bruce, lord Annandale in this fashion?  And let’s not forget about William le Hardi Douglas, who executed a raid to abscond with his second wife, Eleanor Bagot de Lovayne.  Alan and Margaret grew up hearing these stories around fireside.  Alan was akin to the royal family, and was in fact cousin to the Setons.  I am guessing Alan saw the chance to raise the Wyntouns up to the level they had been heretofore denied by forcing the then seventeen-year-old woman into marriage.  At least, some said forced.

Alan wasn’t the first, nor the last Scotsman, to take this quick route to winning the hand of an heiress.  Only, it was another thing to pull this stunt so closely following Sir John’s death at Neville's Cross, and as they say, poor Alexander barely cold in his grave. 

Since the Wyntouns were close cousins to the Setons, and a cadet branch of her own family, there arose cries of consanguinity—mostly from the disappointed rivals, who still hoped to get their chance of being husband to the valuable heiress if they broke the marriage.  There is scant enough material to make a good judgment call on whether this was a kidnapping or an elopement.  I come down on the side that Margaret was a party to the plan, and was determined to marry whom she wanted before a king stepped in and forced her to wed someone she didn’t care for.  Maybe it’s the romantic in me, but how the event unfolded only reinforced that belief they were in love and wanting to control their own fate.

Inadvertently, the two lovers seemed to set half of East Lothians out for blood, while the others were ready to hold a wedding feast.  A bit of an exaggeration, perhaps, but it was said her abduction caused a war—the Wyntoun’s War.  Still, whether or not this was an actual abduction to force a marriage, or something Margaret actively participated in so she could marry Alan, was hotly debated at the time.  The one telling fact that sticks out in my mind—his uncle, William de Moray, brother to Alan’s mother, took the young couple into Edinburgh Castle.  He was governor there, and granted the lovers protection within the castle walls, barring the angry mob that was following in their wake.

One chronicler. Fordun, proclaimed that 'a hundred ploughs were laid aside in Lothian while the matter was discussed.’  Half favored “the ravisher” and applauded Wyntoun for taking the situation in hand.  Others were armed and ready to bring him in for punishment for daring to steal the daughter of his overlord.  And the jilted suitors likely screamed the loudest!  Citizens of Lothian grew into an angry mob and fell upon the castle, demanding Wyntoun be handed over.  When Wyntoun’s uncle refused, an objection quickly made it all the way to the ear of King David II,  and a call was sent out for Alan to be arrested—cousin or not!

Keep in mind, Alan and Margaret are my 19th great-grandparents, so I am possibly a bit prejudiced.  Be still my heart—for after much arguing and various threats, Margaret was required to perform The Ring or The Sword ceremony.  I wrote about the rite and ritual in A Restless Knight— when Tamlyn marries Julian Challon in the old ways.  Family lore says the couple I based them upon went through this ceremony when they wed, but they haven't been fully documented yet.  So, imagine my thrill at finding proof of yet another set of great-grandparents going through this very same ceremony! One tale says Margaret was blindfolded and made to choose between a sword and a ring, each resting upon a pillow.  She did not get to feel these objects, by the way, but had to touch the pillow upon which they rested to determine Alan's fate.  This was seen as a Trial by Ordeal—God’s hand would decide Alan’s fate through her selection.  Other tales say she made her own choice—knowingly, and had from the start.  Whichever you wish to believe, Margaret picked the ring, and she and Alan were officially wed.  They lived together as man and wife, and had two children*** —a son William and a daughter, Christian.

*** I put the stars here to make note there is extreme conflict on the number of children.  William and Christian are fully recognized and well-documented as Alan and Margaret’s children—their only children.  However, some genealogy sites list the couple as having two other sons—Alexander and Henry. Some list the men as Margaret’s sons, half-brothers to William and Christian, implying they were fathered by another man after Alan left.  However, this doesn’t hold water for me since both of these sons inherited Wyntoun lands and titles, and chose to use the Wyntoun name, not the Seton name and honours.  The conflicts arise because both are shown as born years after Alan’s death.  I sincerely believe the date of Alan’s death is off by a decade, and these two are his legitimate sons, which jives with proof to them inheriting his holdings and electing to use his surname.  Even sites that run by the Seton family recognize both of them as Alan’s.  If you take the stance, as I believe, Alan died ten years later than they record, then these are his legitimate sons.

Alexander de Wyntoun of Seton married Jean Halyburton, daughter of Sir Thomas Halyburton of Dirleton.  The youngest son, Henry de Wyntoun, retained his father's surname and inherited Wrychthouses in Edinburgh.  Henry married Amy Brouna of Coalston, and he went on to be one of the heroes of the Battle of Otterburn, August 19, 1388. 

Margaret’s daughter Christian (though they start up with muddling things again by often calling her Margaret, too), went on to do well, marrying George Dunbar, the 9th earl of Dunbar and March—son of Gelis Isabelle Randolph and John Dunbar, of Derchester & Birkynside, earl of Fife—and grandson of Thomas Randolph, earl of Moray.  They went on to have nine daughters and sons.

After the marriage, Alan changed his name to Seton, and used the title of Lord Seton, jure uxoris (by right of wife).  Even so, rumors held that Margaret’s family tended to make life such a continuing hell for Alan that by his early fifties he took to the cross, joining the Knights Hospitallers and went off on a crusade.  Since the last crusade had ended long before this time, it’s assumed he went to the Holy Lands as a pilgrim.  He is recorded as leaving 400 ducats of gold for safe keeping with a Venetian merchant, Nicholas Zucull, in London as he departed England, but that is the last anyone hears of Alan de Wyntoun de Seton.

In 1363 his son, Lord William Seton authorized Adam Wymondham, a citizen, and Nicholas Nogrebon, a Venetian, to recover the money.  The document states that Alan had died on his way to Mount Sinai, when about to visit the tomb of St. Katherine there.  The date of Lord William seeking to recover the money in 1363 seems to support Alan “vanishing” around 1357.  There is no reason they would wait sixteen years to recover the gold.

Little is mentioned of the remainder of Margaret’s life.  She died around 1360, about four years after the disappearance of her husband.

I am sorry such a pale hangs over the end to their story, both vaguely fading into the mists of history without a definitive end to their lives, or what happened to turn Alan against his family and to leave.  But the romance writer in me loves having a real life set of grandparents who went through The Ring and the Sword ceremony, just like my beloved Tamlyn and Julian.

Women of Bruce – Part 5 — Sisters of Robert Bruce: A Tale of Two Isabels.

Women of Bruce – Part 5 —

Sisters of Robert Bruce: A Tale of Two Isabels.

When you really get deep into genealogy you run into a stumbling block of reused names.  I have 37 Robert Bruces in my family tree.  Nearly as many Patrick Dunbars and Hugh, William and James Montgomeries.  I understand that men want sons to carry on their names for immortality.  Only, sometimes it isn’t just the men’s names, which provoke the need to be careful in charting your ancestors—it can be the women, too!  Take the name Margaret—I have over 1000 of those.  Elizabeth?  Oh, yeah!  1333 in my tree (and counting!).  And Isabel/Isabella/Isabelle/Isobel?—406 and many belonging to the Bruce family.  Both of Robert Bruce’s grandmothers were named Isabel—Isabel de Clare and Margaret Isabel FitzAlan Stewart.  His paternal great-grandmothers were Isabelle of Huntington and Isabel Marshall, countess of Glouster, Hertford, Cornwall and Poitou.  Robert married his first wife—Isabel of Mar.  He was crowned by Isabella Macduff, a cousin.  But to really confuse matters he had two sisters by the same first name!

 Yes, this tales of two ladies named Isabel is a study in frustration and chaos.  Once more, we are forced to wade through incorrect information, details—or lack thereof— about two different women historians so casually dismissed, or merged into one.  They are not the same female!  Genealogists have confused, mixed up, or blended the two Isabels until they are a blur, and we are left scratching our heads as to why they simply don’t recognize these ladies are two entirely different sisters of Robert Bruce.

Isabella Kilconquhar Randolph

Through his parent’s marriage, Robert Bruce had seven sisters, with only five living to adulthood—Isabel, Maud, Christian, Mary, and Margaret.  However, often overlooked—he also had an older half-sister from his mother’s first marriage.  While she wasn’t a Bruce by name, she was still his sister, and she gave birth to one of the fiercest warrior heroes Scotland has ever known—Thomas Randolph, 1st earl of Moray.

 

Both women shared the same mother—Marjorie, countess of Carrick, in her own right. (I have written about the dashing Marjorie in my previous articles).  They had different fathers.   Both men went off to join the 9th Crusade, raised by Lord Edward, duke of Gascony.  And both became close friends.  The first Isabel—Isabel Kilconquhar Randolph—was the daughter by Adam de Kilconquhar.  Occasionally, you see her referred to as Isabel Martha Kilconquhar, or Isabelle of Carrick, some mistakenly call her Isabel Bruce, and sadly, maddeningly, some do their best to ignore this daughter all together.  She has a wonderful heritage, so she should be recognized as existing and not bundled into a generic “Isabel Bruce” label.

 Marjorie Carrick married very young to Adam, son of Donnchaidh de Kilconquhar.  Evidence shows that Adam hailed from Fife and from the ancient Clan of MacDuff.  His grandfather was Adam, son of Duncan, earl of Fife.  Adam’s mother was an unnamed woman from Clan Comyn (I think through process of elimination that she was likely Johanna Comyn, daughter of Richard Comyn and Eve Amabilia Galloway).  He had a half-brother, William Comyn, who took his mother’s surname and was named in a papal appointment as the bishop of Brechin in January 1296 (2/156/3 Theiner, no. 350 and.  2/147/23 Theiner, no. 262).  Ancient and impeccable lineage, but then the man who received Marjorie in marriage would have to be worthy of a woman who came from blood royal.  Adam appears to have enjoyed the favor of the Scottish king,  Alexander III, so small wonder he won her hand.  In wedding Marjorie, Adam became the 3rd earl of Carrick, jure uxoris.  Documents of the period show him using the title of earl of Carrick.  Still, the title was little more than an honor, for while Marjorie was the heiress of Niall, 2nd earl of Carrick, her father had set the real power within the clan to follow his nephew, Lachlan.  We don’t know if Adam chafed at being earl in name only for he didn’t stay on the scene long.  Shortly after wedding Marjorie, he joined the Crusade, leaving his young bride at home at Turnberry Castle, either pregnant or with her newborn daughter, Isabella.   Within a year, Marjorie was a widow, due to Adam dying of a wound contracted in a battle in the Holy Lands.

 

(Tree showing the Randolph, Bruce and Kilconquhar Lines)

 Adam charged his close comrade—the handsome lord of Annandale, Robert Bruce—to carry the tides of his demise back to his lady wife.  It is legend how he did just that, and as he made to leave, Marjorie had her men-at-arms capture Annandale and keep him hostage until he agreed to become her second husband.  Obviously, the lady was tired of men deciding her fate.  King Alexander III was upset they had dared wed without his grace and permission.  In punishment, he seized Turnberry Castle.  Since Alexander did not fine Annandale or seize his property, it clearly demonstrated the king laid blame solely at Marjorie’s feet.  Most likely, Marjorie turned on her charm and soothed the king’s ruffled feathers, because he turned the castle back to the Bruces a short time later, and just fined Marjorie one hundred pounds for daring the umbrage.

The marriage was a happy one, and within the year, Marjorie gave birth to another daughter—which she promptly named Isabel!  So, she now had two small daughters by the same first name.  Why would Marjorie name both daughters Isabel?  Well, to honor her mother is one possibility—Margaret Isabel FitzAlan Stewart, countess of Carrick, daughter of Walter Stewart, 3rd  High Steward of Scotland and Bethóc nic Gille Chris of Angus.  Or since she named her first daughter after her mother, she was naming her second daughter after the mother of her husband—Isabel de Clare.  Whatever the motivation we now have two daughters with the same name.

Since Adam was gone, barely a ghost in people’s memory, and the two little girls were not that far apart in age, I wonder how muddled their lives became as they reached marriageable age.  Oh, you are Isabel Bruce? No, I am the other Isabel—not a Bruce.  I am unsure if not being a Bruce hurt Isabel Kilconquhar’s chances at making the best marriage possible.  Still, she didn’t do too badly.  She married Sir Thomas Randolph, Chamberlain of Scotland (whose father was Thomas of Strathnith, and who had also been a Chamberlain of Scotland).  Thomas’ mother was Juliana Kilconquhar of Moray.  Since her parentage is sketchy at best, it’s not hard to assume this she might be aunt or cousin of Isabel?

Her marriage to Sir Thomas saw her wed to a very powerful man.   As the Great Chamberlain, he had jurisdiction for judging of all crimes committed within the burgh, and of the crimes of forestalling (an antiquated term for a merchant buying his way into a market.  In effect, Thomas was Justice-General over the burghs, and held Chamberlain-ayrs every year for that purpose; the form whereof is set down in Iter Camerarii.   He was a supreme judge and his decrees could not be questioned by any inferior judicator. His sentences were to be put into execution by the Baillies of the burghs. He also settled the prices of provisions within burghs, and the fees of the workmen in the Mint.  Thomas Randolph was a man of extraordinary parts, and served both Alexander II and Alexander III.  He also aided Robert Bruce “The Competitor” in his legal bit to be made king of the Scots.  Thomas held great favor with Alexander III, who made him lord great chamberlain of Scotland in 1269, an office which of he enjoyed till the 18th Aug. 1277.  He also worked as the king’s personal attorney on many matters.  Also, the man loved to sue anyone and everyone.  The Scottish court documents show Thomas bringing lawsuits against dozens of lords and ladies over matters of estates, properties and inheritance not fulfilled.

Thomas and Isabel had three children—Nicholas, Thomas and Mabel Isabella.  (Another Isabel! LOL).  Mabel Isabella went on to wed Sir Gilbert de Hamilton, who was one of the seven Royal Knights or bodyguards for Robert the Bruce.  It was Hamilton who gave the funeral oration at the burial of King Robert the Bruce at Dunfermline Abbey.

Tower of London

Nicholas, the eldest Randolph son, was captured at the Battle of Dunbar 1296 and taken to be held prisoner in the Tower of London.  King Edward wrote to the sheriff of London concerning the payment of expenses of Scottish prisoners in the Tower, including “…William, earl of Ross, Andrew de Morpenne, John de Mowbray, Nicholas Randolph, the king’s enemies….” recorded by John of Droxford, keeper of wardrobe of King Edward I, 6th November 1297. (Docs., ii, no. 481).  Odd, in September of 1296, his father was sent to France by King John Balliol.  These two references are the last we hear of either man. It is reasonable to assume within months after Longhanks’ letter concerning the payment for his keep that Nicholas died. I haven’t found any written release, and the conditions of the release, so my guess is he died in prison.  Many of the hundreds of Scottish nobility had been returned to Scotland long before this, so it is unusual Nicholas, the son of such an important man, was still being held.

Isabel’s younger son, Thomas, was originally sworn to Edward Longshanks, and after fighting for the English, he was captured in 1306 and brought before her brother, Robert.  Arrogant, and unbowed, he taunted his uncle for engaging in guerrilla warfare instead of standing and fighting in pitched battle.  Failing to take umbrage, Robert persuaded his nephew to change sides again.  Thomas went on to become one of the king's most important and trusted captains, the 1st earl of Moray, regent for Robert’s son David II, and eventually becoming Guardian and Chamberlain of Scotland.  He was a distinguished diplomat, just as formidable an opponent at court as he had been a warrior on the battlefield.

To add to the growing list of Isabels—Isabella’s granddaughter was Agnes Randolph Dunbar, countess of Dunbar, who held the siege of Dunbar Castle.  I wrote about Agnes’ colorful exploits in A Tale of Two Women and One Castle - The Ladies of Dunbar—Part Two—Agnes Randolph.  However, son Thomas had another daughter, which he naturally named Isabelle.  And, oh, his wife’s name? —Isabel Stewart of Bonkyll.

Isabella Kilconquhar Randolph lived until her early eighties.  She outlived her husband and both sons, dying less than two years before her daughter.  She was laid to rest beside her beloved husband in Melrose Abbey, and next to his father Thomas fitzRanulf of Moray and mother, Juliana Kilconquhar.

Isabel de Brus Magnússon

Queen Isabel de Brus Magnússon’s Coat of Arms

Isabel de Brus Magnússon—the other Isabel was a full sister to Robert Bruce.  She was born less than three years after her older half-sister with which she shared a name.  She was the first child of Marjorie Carrick and Robert de Brus. And though her brother may have been destined to become a king, at the age of twenty-one this Isabel became a queen before him! 

 

Ever mindful of cementing the House of Bruce into the royalty of Scotland and her allies, Robert Bruce, lord of Annandale, arranged a marriage for his eldest daughter to the king of Norway.  In 1293, Isabel traveled with her father to Bergen where she wed to King Eric Magnússon II of Norway in true royal fashion.

 

The last surviving son of King Magnús the Lawmender, Erik was given the title of king at age five by his father.  Magnús had intended for his son to co-rule with him, but before this could be arranged King Magnús died. Erick was then crowned sole ruler in the summer of 1280.  A year later, at age thirteen he married twenty-year-old Princess Margaret of Scotland, daughter of King Alexander III.  Tragically, Margaret died two years later giving birth to a daughter also named Margaret, who would go down in history as the Maid of Norway.  After Alexander’s death—leaving no male to follow him— this small child, not even eight-years-old, soon grew to be the center of unparalleled political maneuvering, since she now was the true heir to the Scottish throne.

 

In 1286, she became the child Queen of the Scots, though she had never set foot in Scotland and was never inaugurated.  And just as quickly, she was betrothed to Edward I’s son.  Longshanks wanted her wed immediately to Edward of Caernarvon, for in his vision his son would then rule Scotland as king through her.  The Guardians of Scotland resisted this plan, and after much choreography and negotiating, the nobles set out to collect the wee lass to bring her home—and under their control before Edward decided to fetch her himself.  Edward wasn’t above executing such a power play, and they knew if that occurred the English monarch would never set her free.  Alas, a storm blew her ship off course, and they were forced to land at St. Margaret’s Hope, South Ronaldsay on Orkney.  Odd bit of fate.  The village was named after St. Margaret of Scotland, the wife of King Malcolm III.  We hope the saint took pity on the small child who bore her name, for she died shortly after making it to shore. 

 

The incident sparked one of the biggest legal battles in Scottish History —The Great Cause.  Seventeen claimants vied to be the next king of Scotland.  Isabel’s grandfather—Robert Bruce, 5^th lord of Annandale—was a leading contender.  Even the man who would soon be her husband within a year, as King Erik of Norway had tossed his name into the hat, so the speak, claiming he held the right to rule through his deceased daughter.

 

Monument to the rules of Norway, including a listing for King Erik, his wife, Princess Margaret of Scotland, and their daughter, Margaret, Maid of Norway- Bergenhus Fortress, Bergen, Norway.

Isabel had arrived in Norway, a well-propertied woman and bringing riches to her marriage, bespeaking she was a woman worthy to be a queen.  Her dowry and trousseau were recorded at the time by Weyland de Striklaw, an English nobleman employed by the king.  Striklaw noted the delivery of the goods for Isabel’s trousseau: precious clothes and furs, 2 golden boiler, 24 silver plate, 4 silver salt cellars and 12 two-handled scyphus (soup bowls) for her new household.  The marriage seemed to agree with her, and she developed a deep love for her new country and the church at Bergen.  Almost four years later her daughter Ingebjørg Eriksdottir was born.  However, the marriage ended abruptly when Eric died 15^th of July 1299.

 

Bergenhas Fortress, Bergen, Norway

Widowed at the age twenty-six, Isabel could have returned home to the Bruces, yet she stayed in Norway, and in spite of the insecurities that came with widowhood, Isabel was in no hurry to remarry.  There were some motions of a marriage in 1300. Not for Isabel, but her infant daughter.  Though Ingebjørg was only three- years-old, Isabel moved ahead with the plan to marry her child to Jón Magnússon, earl of Orkney and Caithness, the betrothal recorded in the Icelandic Annals.  Magnússon, by nature of each earldom, was a subject of both Scotland and Norway. Most believe this was a desperate attempt on Isabel’s part to find a protector for her daughter, and one aligned to the Bruce’s cause and able to affect influence in Norway as well.  Nevertheless, the wedding never took place as Magnússon died soon after the contract was recorded. Perhaps her fears soon proved unfounded for there were no further attempts to find a protector for either herself or her child.  Instead, Isabel settled into life as queen dowager.

 

As a queen consort scant information remains on Isabel’s life.  On the other hand, as queen dowager her days are better chronicled.  Queen Isabel participated in many official events and ceremonies, and clearly did not lack sway.   Her presence was recorded with the new king—King Haakon (Erik’s brother)—and his wife on many court occasions.  It was documented she was with the royal couple at the inauguration in 1305 of Bishop Arne Sigurdssön, the new bishop of Bergen.  Though her husband has been slanderously nicknamed “priest hater”, Isabel had a good relationship with the clerical powers in Bergen.  She made large donations in 1324 to the local church, and in return she received several houses from the bishop to provide an income for the rest of her life, leaving her independent in a time women rarely had this sort of freedom.

 

In 1301 a woman arrived at Bergen on a ship from Lübeck, Germany.  Quite bizarrely, she claimed to be the dead Margaret all grown up.  She accused several people of treason for trying to hide the real queen of the Scots.  Her story detailed that she hadn’t died on Orkney, but had been sold into slavery by Tore Haakonsson's wife (also named Ingebjørg), and then sent to Germany where she had married.  The people of Bergen and even some of the clergy vigorously took up her cause, in spite of the fact that the late King Erik had identified his dead daughter's body.  Even more damning—the woman appeared to be about forty-years-old, whereas the real Margaret would have been seventeen had she lived.  After a much followed trial, she was burned at the stake for treason at Nordnes in Bergen in 1301, and her husband was beheaded.   Whether Isabel attended any of the trial isn’t recorded, thought I’m sure she was aware of the proceedings.

Isabel’s quiet power likely helped the rise of Weyland de Striklaw—who we already met when the goods for Isabel’s trousseau were unloaded.  After Jón Magnússon’s death left the marriage for her daughter moot, Isabel’s patronage may have been the reason for his rising prominence—and possibly to her benefit.  Striklaw somehow managed to become guardian for the earl’s successor, and gained control of the administration of Orkney and later Caithness.  Little direct evidence can be found for Isabel being responsible with the man’s rise from exiled Englishman to one who controlled two earldoms.  Still, that command over Orkney and Caithness—earlships she had intended for her daughter—could be taken as an indication of Isabel’s discreet political activity after her husband’s death.

There is intimation that she was a mediator in the negotiations between Norway and Scotland, regarding the dispute of ownership of Orkney and Shetland when in 1312 the Treaty of Perth was reaffirmed.  Another is the occasion of her apply to King Haakon for a pardon of a prisoner 1339.

During her sister Christian’s imprisonment by Edward I, the two sisters exchanged letters.  Isabel even sent clothing and other needs to help ease the situation.  Helping her family didn’t stop there.  She sent a large number solders and knights from Caithness, Orkney and Norway to fight for her brother Robert.

Isabel, once again, took a strong hand in arranging a marriage for her daughter.  At this point the tales of two Isabels turns into a tale of two Ingebjørgs.  Isabel’s daughter named Ingebjørg, and her niece also named Ingebjørg, were married to the younger sons of Erik, Duke of Södermanland.  Isabel’s daughter married Valdemar, Duke of Finland, Uppland, and Öland.  Isabel was likely proud of the marriage, but that pride was dashed before too long, leaving her daughter a young window, just as she had been.  The two Swedish princes had long been mistrusted by their elder brother, King Birger, and eventually, in 1317 he had them both arrested at a banquet at Nyköping Castle.  They were held in a dungeon and no one was allowed to see them. Sometime after January 1318, tides of their demise spread throughout the country—rumors fearing they had been starved to death.  Their widows, the Duchesses Ingebjørg, were not meek in their acceptance of the deaths, instead became the leaders of their husbands’ supporters.  Eventually, later that year, they were able to force King Birger into exile, and crowned Magnús, the son of Ingebjørg Håkonsdatter, as king of Sweden.  Then, he succeeded his grandfather, Håkon V, as king of Norway in 1319.  The regency was held by Magnús’ mother and grandmother, and Ingebjørg Eiriksdatter also held a seat on the regency council.

In 1357, Ingebjørg died, naming her mother as one of her heirs, increasing Isabel’s wealth.  Isabel still did not return to Scotland.  There is not a single instance recorded of her returning to her family in the country where she was born.  Instead, she lived in Bergen the remainder of her life.  On 13 April 1358 and at the age of 86, she died in Bergen, Hordaland, Norway.  Isabel finally returned to the soil of her birth, being buried in Paisley, Renfrewshire, Scotland.

 

Above: the first folio from an Old French version of William of Tyre’s  “Historia rerum in partibus transmarinis gestarum”, which belonged to Isabel Bruce, and the ex libris announcing her ownership is in red ink across the top of the page.

In summarizing, these two daughters of Marjorie Carrick may have shared a name, one common to the family, but they and their lives couldn’t have been more different, each carving out a special niche in history. 

Next month, I will finish up with the remaining Bruce sisters—

Mary, Margaret and Maud.

Then in October I will turn my attention to
the Daughters of Bruce...
first up will be Marjorie Bruce Stewart,
 the daughter of a king and the mother of a king

Deborah writes a Scottish Medieval Historical series the Dragons of Challon
and Contemporary  Paranormal Romance series the Sister of Colford Hall.

The Women of Bruce -- Part One -- Marjorie Carrick, countess of Carrick

 

In my last blogs, I covered the valiant ladies of Dunbar Castle.  In my next several I will write about some equally strong females who were forced to endure the hardships of Scotland during the War for Independence—The Women of Bruce.  Much has been written about Robert “the Competitor” who was one of thirteen claimants to the Scottish crown in the early 1290s, of Robert, lord of Annandale—his ever hungry, ambitious son—and then Robert, earl of Carrick, who went on to become king of Scotland, first of his name, succeeding where his father and grandfather failed before him.  But what about the women around King Robert—his mother, his sisters, wives, the many mistresses and daughters?  Who were they?  What were their stories?

In Part One – I begin with an amazing woman (and my 21st great-grandmother)—Marjorie Carrick, countess of Carrick, lady of Clan Campbell—and mother of King Robert the Bruce.

Turnberry Castle

Marjorie was born in 1252 at Turnberry Castle, Carrick, Ayrshire in southwest Scotland.  Some fix her birth year at 1259, but that would put the birth of her first child before she was ten-years-old, so I seriously doubt that assertion.  Robert’s mother was the daughter and heiress of Niall Mac Dhonnchad, 2nd earl of Carrick, a line that goes back to Scottish kings, David I and Malcolm I, and beyond to the Pictish kings. Her mother’s side traces a direct line back to the kings of France and Henry I of England. Her father was nearly fifty-years-0ld when he finally accepted that he would sire no male heir to replace him.  Roland, his nephew and foster son, had been raised as his son.  With health fading and wanting matters settled, Niall made the bold move to place the chieftainship and control of the clan on Roland’s shoulders, but then, in old Pictish tradition, created his daughter, Marjorie heiress to Carrick, in her own right, and settled vast estates upon her.

Carrick Coat of Arms

Since she was such a prize as a bride, King Alexander III quickly married Marjorie off  at a young age to Sir Adam of Kilconquhar, a man twenty years older than she.  In  rapid time, she was wed, gave birth to her first child—a daughter Isabel (named after Marjorie's mother, Isabel FitzAlan Stewart), and then she had to stand on the castle wall, holding her daughter,  and wave goodbye to her lord husband of barely two years, as he rode off on the Eighth Crusade raised by Louis IX of France.  Adam, the new Earl Carrick, jure uxoris (by right of his wife), participated in a battle near Acre.  Months later, he died of wounds he received in the engagement.  

Fighting at his side, and there as Kilconquhar closed his eyes, was his good companion, Robert de Brus, 6th lord of Annandale.  Before Adam drew his final breath, he extracted a promise from his friend to journey to Carrick to tell his pretty lady wife of his death, and carry a memento to her.  One has to ponder, those in his final moments, as he stared at the handsome Robert (thirteen years his junior) if he was sending Marjorie a suitable replacement for her husband.

It took a few months for Robert to reach Britain and then travel to Carrick in Ayrshire in south western Scotland.  Carrick was just three days travel beyond his holding in Annandale, so it was no trouble to fulfill his vow.  When he arrived, he discovered Marjorie in the midst of a hunt.  The scene is easy to envision (especially to a romance writer!)—Marjorie now in her early 20s, vibrant and independent, used to managing her honours on her own.  And feeling time ticking away.  

Neither a Scottish king nor an English one would leave her alone, a widow, for too long.  Already wed to a man closer to the age of her father than hers, and not wanting to stand about while being treated as a royal pawn in the games of marriage and power, she decided to seize control in her hands.  Robert was handsome, a strong warrior, and came with a good lineage—one to match her own.  He would make a good lord for Carrick—one of her choosing. 

Marjorie entertained Robert lavishly for a month.  At the end of the time, he mounted his horse, intending to return to Annandale—some 80 miles to the east.  To Robert’s surprise—as the story goes—he was but a couple leagues away from Carrick, when suddenly he was surrounded by Countess Marjorie’s mounted knights.  They forcibly escorted him back to Turnberry Castle.  Once there, he was met by Marjorie who informed him, in true Highland fashion, she was kidnapping him—that he would remain her prisoner until he consented to wed with her.  A Highland man kidnapping a bride wasn’t anything new.  Quite a few Scottish marriages began this way—called a Scottish Wooing.   Marjorie was being a truly independent woman, and not about to permit men to govern the path of her life any longer.  There was speculation just how hard she had to work to convince Robert to agree to her proposal.   

 

Bruce was no mouse of a man.  He had fought in the Crusade, witnessed the harshness of war.  And he was very ambitious, with long-ranging, farseeing plans.  One might guess, he was already contemplating that Kilconquhar’s wife would make him the perfect lady—one that someday might be his queen—and was merely playing hard to get.  The best way to win the heart of this strong-willed lass was to allow Marjorie to believe the idea was hers!   With his holding of Annandale not too far from Carrick, surely, he had heard tales of the beautiful countess, knew her royal heritage, and on the long journey home, figured he would be in an excellent position to claim a perfect bride, suited for his future.  Historians—and non-romantics—have cast doubt on the events, and suggest it was a mutual plot, a ploy to get by the wrath of Alexander III, king of the Scots.  Being her 21st great-granddaughter, and a Medieval romance writer, I firmly come down on the side of Marjorie kidnapping her husband because she was in love—and being very practical!

It was within the king’s right to make matches or marriage, or at least add his seal of approval before the couple was wed.  This authority permitted a king to control his lords and barons, to see no one man became so powerful that he might rival the man sitting on the throne—one much like Robert of Annandale.

Alexander III, king of the Scots

Thus, Alexander was naturally furious the couple wed without his royal permission,  or papal consent—nor Marjorie observing a full year of mourning.  In punishment, he seized Turnberry Castle and her other lands.  However, whether the tale of their torrid romance caught the king’s fancy, or he secretly admired Marjorie’s audacity, she was able to regain possession of her holdings by paying a fine—about one hundred pounds—equal to the marriage pact fee they would've had to pay if they had been granted permission by the king and married with the usual steps. 

Arms of Robert Bruce, 6th lord of Annandale

It was clear theirs was a lovematch.  In the nearly two decades they were married Marjorie bore 12 children, 10 lived to full age.  Less than a year after they were married, Marjorie gave birth to twin girls in early 1272

1.         Isabel de Brus  (She became the queen of Norway)

2.         Maud de Brus (Isabel's twin) (married Aodh O'Beland de Ross who became the earl of Ross and Stratherne in 1323)

3.         Their third daughter, Christian de Brus—often called Christina—came in 1273.  (Her first husband was Gartnait de Mar, earl of Mar (and brother to Isabel Mar, first wife of King Robert).  (Her second husband was Sir Christopher Seton,  executed with her brother Niall in 1306.  The third husband was Andrew, the son of Sir Andrew de Moray, hero of the Battle of Stirling Bridge with William Wallace.)

4.         With the fourth child in 1274, Annandale got his male heir—and one that would create a history, which would live forever—Robert de Brus—who would go on to be king of the Scots. 

5.         Mary de Brus was born 1275  (She married Sir Neil Campbell of Lochow, and then Sir Alexander Fraser of Touchfraser and Cowie)

6.         Late 1276, Edward de Brus came—a man who would be the king of Ireland for a brief time.  

7.         Margaret de Brus was born 1276  (She wed Sir William Carlyle)

8.         Niall de Brus, a third son, followed 1279. (He was taken prisoner at Kildrummie Castle—while giving the Bruce women the chance to escape the English—was hanged, drawn and quartered at Berwick-upon-Tweed in September 1306, along with Christopher Seton, husband to his sister, Christian, and the earl of Atholl.)

9.         Alexander de Brus was born 1282  (He was hanged, drawn and quartered 9th February 1307 at Carlisle, Cumberland, captured with Reginald Crawford, cousin to William Wallace)

10.       Thomas de Brus was born 1284. (He was hanged, drawn and quartered 9th February 1307 with his brother at Carlisle, Cumberland, and Reginald Crawford, cousin to William Wallace)

11.      *** 1286 saw the arrival of Elizabeth de Brus, but she didn’t make it to adulthood 

12.     ***  And finally another daughter named Euphemia de Brus came 1287, but like Elizabeth didn’t live to adulthood either.

*** some family trees show both Elizabeth and Euphemia de Brus being alive, married and having children.  Closer inspection will show these are non-Bruce females who married into de Brus family, so NOT the same females.

Also of note, Marjorie's first daughter, Isabel, by Adam Kilconquhar went on to marry Sir Thomas Randolph, and her son, and Marjorie's grandson, was Thomas Randolph of Moray, the brilliant general that served Marjorie's son so well.

 Sadly, Marjorie never lived to see all the accomplishments her children attained, nor had she been forced to mourn the death of four of her sons killed because of their struggles for independence from England.  She died shy of age forty.  The cause isn’t noted, as history so often does, ignoring women and the important role they played, but one has to wonder if the birth of thirteen children took its toll upon her.  There is another daunting possibility—leprosy.  It had long been rumored that her son, Robert, died of the disease, likely acquired from his father, who was said to have perished of it as well—probably infected while he was on the Crusade.   (There are two different groups saying yes and no on if the king did or didn't have it, mostly based on a casting of his skull made 200 years ago.  The side saying he didn't have it are focusing on the face deforming part of the disease, of which Robert displayed none.  Leprosy can caused other issues that can kill).  Leprosy is spread by close contact with someone infected, and has an incubation period of a year or more, often up to five years.  After that period, it can take its time killing you through various means, such as attacking the respiratory system, making it harder to fight pneumonia.  Some are severely affected within a year or two, but others can take ten, fifteen or twenty years to succumb to the disease in the middle ages.  So, it is not unreasonable to wonder if Marjorie might have contracted the disease from her husband, and simply succumbed to the ravages of something that was incurable in the 1300s.  A recent study of the Bruce’s skull brought medical confirmation that the king did suffer from the dread disease, but it didn't destroy his face.  If you follow that line of thought it lends credence to both his father and possibly his mother dying from it as well.  

Majorie's grave at Holme Cultram Abbey

Marjorie is buried with her beloved Robert in Holme Cultram Abbey Churchyard,  Abbeytown, Allerdale Borough, Cumbria, England.  Another amazing woman who refused to submit to the narrow roles afforded women during this period.

Join me for Part 2 - of the Women of Bruce where I will talk about the amazing lady who crowned Robert king, and how she paid the price for that act.

Turnberry Castle

Deborah writers in the period of Robert the Bruce in her Medieval series the

Dragons of Challon.

Deborah writes as if she’s been in Medieval Scotland and can magically take you back there to stand amidst the heather and mist of another time. This is breathtakingly beautiful, award caliber writing

— New York Times bestselling author, Lynsay Sand