“Ah, but William is from a different branch of that family,” the king explained. Though the words sounded benign, the tone and the wink that accompanied them explained all the bishop needed to know.
William was a bastard. The king’s own.
“Come. Share this meal and tell me of your mother.” A servant pulled out a chair at the table, and William sat there. Another presented platters of food until his expensive, silver plate was filled. A matching cup held what was certain to be a similarly expensive wine, for the king ate and drank only the best.
Whether strange or not, considering that the king had recently lost his own mother, William spoke about his mother as requested. ’Twas no secret at the royal court that William’s mother was the king’s cousin and something more. Madelyn of Coucy had caught the royal heir’s eye before he was crowned king and then she herself had been caught. She was married to a compliant de Brus before her condition was known, and William was given her husband’s name, but the truth of his parentage was widely known in France and Scotland. All because of the royal wink and nod.
William spoke of the time his mother had spent with the dowager queen in Picardy instead of their largely ignored personal relationship. Alexander did not suffer an empty bed, whether now or in his younger years, so William was but one of many royal seeds sown in willing woman. ’Twas simply the way of things for kings. Soon the meal came to an end, and William waited on the king’s pleasure. With a wave of his hand, Alexander cleared the chamber. All of his servants and ministers, even the bishop, left with silent bows. The doors closed, and William waited to discover the true cost of his request of the king.
It was not long in coming.
“I know you wish me to rule in your favor in your dispute with the other de Bruses,” Alexander said in a quiet voice. “And I am willing to do that. . . ”
William heard the pause that signified the conditions of that ruling and waited, holding his breath on the coming words.
“But I have a small task for you to carry out first,” the king said.
“Anything, Your Grace,” William answered quickly. Truth be told, he would agree to do anything to have his claim settled and the lands his for the taking.
Alexander reached over and lifted the pitcher of wine before him, filling both of their cups and drinking half of his before continuing. And that worried William, as did the glances toward the doors and the king’s increased nervousness.
“Is there aught wrong, Your Grace?” he finally asked. “Come,” the king directed. He rose and walked closer to the huge stone fireplace and as far, William noticed, away from the doors, windows, and tapestry-covered walls as one could get. William followed and waited, a shiver of warning tickling the back of his neck as he watched the ever-confident, ever-in-control king change into someone very different.
Mayhap the king’s grief had caught up with him? Mayhap the lack of suitable heirs and his yet-unfruitful new marriage and the possible end of the Canmore dynasty had changed him from the decisive strong king he had been?
“I have a matter that requires the utmost of discretion and cannot trust it to someone else,” he explained as he sat on a stone bench before the fire. “You . . . you I trust, William.”
“I am honored, Sire,” William began, but a furious wave of Alexander’s hand stopped further words.
“I am not so sure you will feel honored once you hear the matter. Sit close by and listen to my plight. I must have your word that you will speak of this to no one.”
William hesitated, both intrigued and wary of such secrecy as this seemed to be. Still, the king held the power to grant or deny him his lands, so he would be wise to carry out regardless of his feelings on it. “You have it.”
“Good. I’d hoped I could count on my kin in this, but none are so trustworthy as I know you to be,” he said, glancing toward the door once more. “For some time, I have begun to doubt the sincerity and loyalty of one of my counselirs. Rumors persist, and his behavior answers not my questions about him. Strange stories abound. . . ” He paused and glanced over his shoulder.
William wondered about this suspicious demeanor, but the man was his king and was to be obeyed without question. “Which of your counselirs, Sire?”
“His advice has recently become less dependable and there are stories. . . ” The king shuddered as he spoke now. “Demons, William. ’Tis rumored that he calls forth demons from the other world.”
The silence in the chamber surrounded and pressed down on him at the accusations. The old beliefs were long gone from the lands of the Celts and Gaels, but there were always rumors of those who had ungodly and otherworldly powers. William never believed in such things. They were for the fearful and the weak. He believed in the one true God.
A sudden burning in his arm took him by surprise. Had he been sitting too closely to the fire? Tugging on his sleeve, he watched a patch of redness spread on his forearm.
“William?”
He pulled the sleeve down to cover the strange spot and turned his attention back to the king. Meeting his gaze, William asked again, “Which of your counselors, Sire?”
“De Gifford.”
William leaned back, shocked to hear this name. From another part of Brittany, the de Gifford family was old and powerful. The current lord, Hugh, was one of the most important men in the kingdom, having been one of Alexander’s regents. Lord de Gifford had continued in the king’s closest circle in the years since the king came of age and proceeded to succeed where his father had failed.
“Hugh de Gifford? The rumors are about him?”
“You must understand how important this is. My kingdom is at stake. My life and the life of my queen and”—the king paused to whisper—“and the possible heir she carries is at stake. I must know if I can trust his advice or if he has ulterior motives for his words and wisdom.”
William felt the irrational fear behind the words spoken as he considered them and did not answer immediately. So the queen was enceinte, then? Dredging up the logic that usually suited his purposes, he glanced at his king.
“Sire, what accusations have been made? What makes you suspicious about Lord Hugh?” He ran his hand through his hair and stood, staying close to the king so he did not have to raise his voice. “Demons, Sire? Who says such nonsense?”
