“Don’t confuse the soap this time, Mother.” Alex grinned. “I didn’t care for smelling like lavender last time.”
“Aye, well…” Coira never admitted she gave Alex the lavender soap, hoping it soothed him enough to sleep that night. “I will sniff it myself. Hie yourselves off to your chambers while I send maids up with the tubs and buckets.”
Alex and Brice leaned forward to kiss their mother on her cheeks, just as they had since they were young and trying to avoid punishments. They made their way up the stairs together as Tavin and Coira watched.
“Coira, I understand it scares you. You’re not alone in that. I thought to have you join me as I watched Alex from my chamber but I feared upsetting you if Alex got hurt. But he’s impressive. Nay, he can’t use both arms. He made it clear he didn’t need to. Do I plan to send him off to battle again? No. But am I more reassured that he can defend himself? Yes. Was it the boost of confidence he needed? Absolutely. Brice did what no one else could. He gave Alex back some self-respect.”
Tavin smiled at the woman he’d married nearly three decades earlier. They weren’t in love and never had been. But he loved his wife with a warmth that had grown over the years, and they respected one another. In a rare moment of affection, he wrapped his arm around Coira’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. She leaned against Tavin and nodded. Together, they watched their sons until they disappeared abovestairs.
Three
Alex gritted his teeth as each step his horse took jarred his left arm, even while trotting. He’d repositioned his limp arm several times when it slipped from his lap. They’d been on the road for six days, and Alex grew more miserable by the day. He couldn’t imagine how his father thought he’d be diplomatic with anyone, let alone a king, after riding for six days and spending five nights sleeping on the ground. While he’d been able to keep up with the other men when they pushed their horses faster, he’d been in agony with each movement. It humiliated him that he couldn’t stand his turn at watch, every man there knowing he couldn’t protect them if attacked. The cold from the earth seeped into his bones and made his injury ache besides throb. He hadn’t known it was possible.
The little self-confidence Alex built from spending two days in the lists shattered as he realized how much of a strain it was for him to make this same journey he’d done countless times before. He wanted nothing more than to slip into his chambers, unnoticed by anyone but the servants who brought him a bath. But he knew King Robert the Bruce would learn of his arrival and expect him to wait among the other petitioners outside the Privy Council chamber. Even if the chamberlain didn’t grant him entry, King Robert expected the Armstrongs to respond to his summons immediately. He also accepted that the one person he both longed to and loathed to see resided at court. Encountering Caitlyn Kennedy was more inevitable than meeting with the king.
As they entered Stirling Castle’s bailey, Alex glanced around to determine if Queen Elizabeth de Burgh’s ladies-in-waiting were anywhere near the stables. He breathed easier when he saw no woman he recognized. He relieved his men of duty and sent them to find food and cots in the barracks. Opting to risk King Robert’s ire, he slipped into the castle and made his way to the bachelor men’s floor. It wasn’t long before he had a chamber assigned to him and a bath on the way. While he waited for the servants to arrive, he kicked off his boots and peeled off his stockings. He bade them enter when he heard the knock, turning to watch as two men carried the narrow tub, fearing he might lodge himself in it and never get out. Women smiled at him as they poured bucket after bucket of water into the tub. But each struggled to stifle their gasps when he turned his face fully toward them. He watched as the coquettish behavior turned to revulsion, as it had the few times he’d thought to approach a woman.
Alex had sought the company of tavern wenches in the village outside Mangerton, women he’d known since the first time he’d stumbled in. They were women he’d bedded before who no longer drew near, put off by his marred appearance, uncomfortable near his deformed arm. He hadn’t even been that interested in tupping any of them so much as confirming his suspicions: he now repulsed women.
Settling himself in the tub with his knees up to his nose, Alex sank his aching arm and shoulder beneath water that was uncomfortably hot to the rest of him. Sitting curled was moderately more comfortable than the lip of the tub biting into his legs. He would never understand why carpenters built the tubs to accommodate women. He could only imagine what his Highland acquaintances did. He was a large man, but they were mammoth. He soaked until the water no longer eased the pain, then he scrubbed himself. Glancing at the bed, it tempted him to retire until morning, ignoring the king’s expectations, but he knew such a decision would do him—or Clan Armstrong—no good.
Alex heaved himself out of the bath, struggling to get his feet under him with only one arm to help lever his body. He took several calming breaths before he attempted to get dressed, willing himself not to get impatient and frustrated. He stared at the empty scabbard propped against the foot of the bed. He’d worn his sword while he traveled on the off chance that he needed to go to such lengths to defend himself. It was a relief when he had to relinquish it at the gate. He didn’t feel so ridiculous wearing it when everyone recognized he was no longer a warrior. He was now, at best, a courtier. He grimaced at the thought. He summoned servants to remove his bath while he fought to pull on his stockings and boots. This time, none of the women glanced in his direction. He supposed it was better than having to witness their unease and dislike.
Alex was nearly to the last turn before entering the passageway leading to the Privy Council chamber when he heard women’s voices. One particular voice had him ducking out of sight until they passed.
Coward. You’ve known Caitlyn since you were seven, and she was five. You’re hiding like a naughty wean.
Despite reproaching himself, he didn’t step out of his hiding place until he no longer heard any women. He made his way toward the doors leading into the Privy Council chamber and announced himself to the chamberlain. It shocked him that the doors opened to him as soon as the chamberlain returned. Alex entered the meeting room and swept his gaze over the occupants. He stifled a growl when he noticed not one, but three, representatives from Clan Scott. He recognized Angus Elliot, heir to Clan Elliot, standing across the room from the Scott men. He’d never cared for Angus or his younger brother, Graeme, especially not after rumors circulated about how their family treated their youngest sister, Allyson. Fortunately for Allyson, she married the reformed rogue Ewan Gordon and lived far from her clan of birth. But much as he disliked Angus, he respected his prowess as a warrior and a leader. He moved to stand with Angus.
“Armstrong,” Angus acknowledged. His eyes widened when he realized Alex’s injury hadn’t healed as everyone hoped. He forced himself not to stare at Alex’s scar either, shifting to only peer at Alex’s left side.
“Elliot, how long have you been here?” Alex inquired.
“I arrived yesterday, but this is the first time they’ve admitted me. Not that it’s mattered since I’ve been waiting in here for two hours. The king hasn’t glanced in my direction. But then, he hasn’t looked at those bluidy Scott arseholes either.”
“Do you think we’ll gain an audience now that I’m here?” Alex suspected they might, but for no reason other than King Robert’s morbid interest in Alex’s condition. If it allowed him to leave court sooner, he wasn’t beyond dragging his arm on the floor and picking at his scar. He watched alongside Angus as the Bruce finally turned his attention in their direction. He narrowed his eyes at them before turning to glower at the Scotts. His scowl etched into his face, he waved the men to the table that sat in the middle of the chamber. He pushed aside the parchments strewn before him as he sat. The five Lowlanders waited for the minor nod that indicated they could sit as well.
“How do you have time to fight one another when you’re still reiving and being reived by the English?” King Robert demanded with no salutations offered. None of the men offered an answer, and none shifted their stares. They all gazed at spots over the king’s shoulders. Alex refused to volunteer any information for which the king didn’t directly ask. The lines seemed to sink deeper into the king’s face as he waited. “Very well. What the bluidy hell in August were you thinking?” King Robert turned his ire toward the Scotts.
The Scott men sat silently, none of the three wanting to speak first. Finally, the one in the middle answered. “Theyclaimed land that isn’t theirs. We aimed to get it back.”
“And what land would that be? They aren’t neighbors to one another.” King Robert swung his gaze toward Alex and Angus. “What reason do they have to fight over a single strip of land?”
“Both the Armstrongs and Elliots sent crofters onto our land, saying it was theirs,” the Scott delegate explained.
“And one clan thought it prudent to take on two of the most powerful border clans,” the Bruce scoffed. “Mighty big bollocks your laird has.”
“I’d say we didn’t fare too badly all things considered.” The Scott representative who sat closest to Alex smirked. Alex kept a rein on his temper, expecting the taunts and attempts to humiliate him.
“You lost,” King Robert stated, deadpan.
“For now,” the same Scott spoke. “They both sustained significant losses.” This time the man had the audacity to grin. But it faded when Alex didn’t react.
“And every mon who rode or marched onto that battlefield lived to return to your land,” the Bruce quipped. The three Scott delegates shifted in their seats. “I may not spend as much time near the border as I once did, but I know the land well. The Hermitage lies closer to the Armstrongs and Elliots than it does the Scotts. You met to fight there because it was land near there that you claimed the Armstrongs and Elliots stole. Tell me: How does one steal their own land? That land has been no one’s but the Armstrongs’ and the Elliots’. My son oversees the Hermitage.”
While King Robert had two legitimate children, Marjorie by his first wife and David by his current wife, he had a number of bastards who shared the king’s distinct russet hair. His oldest illegitimate son, aptly named Robert, fought alongside his father during the Wars. For that, he was gifted oversight of Hermitage Castle. The Bruce was hardly unaware of what happened there.
Alex, watching from the corner of his eye, was certain he noticed the Scotts squirm in their seats. To anyone else, it appeared he watched the king. He would never be blind to where any Scott was ever again. He maintained his posture with his back straight, chest broad, and head held high. He was aware some called it arrogance, and once it had been. Now it was more bravado, but he mustered all that he could, so he never appeared cowed before another clan. As he sat, he’d inconspicuously lifted his left arm into his lap and now clasped hands. He did so to keep his arm from sliding from his lap, but it gave him the air of looking at ease. His right hand had to hold tightly against the weight of his left arm, but he still had enough strength and dexterity in his left hand to curl his fingers over the back of his right hand, making the position appear natural.
