Then she was gone before he could say another word. He opened the door to look for her but there was just the empty corridor outside.
The king arrived in the late afternoon. The cloud of dust on the horizon was the first sign of him, a long, long line of horses and knights guarding him on his travels. The horn sounded upon first sight of him, bringing Jock out of his reverie.
At the time he was in the infirmary, sitting by his father who was fading fast, his skin turning paler. Lachlan was dealing with the preparations for the king’s arrival.
Jock sat feeling useless. “If I knew what it was, I could treat it,” Alan kept saying. “If only I knew what it was.”
Jock could do nothing to help other than watch him dying. In a way, he was glad of the king’s approach. It would serve as a distraction.
The gates were thrown open and the first of the royal staff passed through, filling the courtyard, their furs and fine colors drawing comment from the watching MacGregors.
Jock stood by the well, waiting. The king climbed down from his horse, his armor more functional than decorative, a sign of the regular assassination attempts he had endured over the last few years.
He looked too clean for a warrior, not that anyone would say that to his face. He was not a man to mock, many who had done so were dead by his hand. He marched up to Jock who bowed in response.
“Head up,” the king said. “You are Jock MacGregor and you fund my fight against the English. I bow to you.” He inclined his head slightly.
“We have prepared a feast for your arrival, my king.”
“And we will be glad to indulge. First though, I must speak with you alone.”
“As you wish.”
The king headed up the steps of the keep, Jock followed. No one else moved. Once inside they entered the great hall, the king taking the nearest bench and motioning for Jock to sit opposite him. “I hear rumors about Clan MacGregor,” the king said. “Worrying rumors.”
“About what, my king?”
“That you have no money to give, that it has been lost or spent or stolen. Is this true?”
“I cannot deny we have had a number of issues in recent days but I am led to believe all will be well soon enough.”
“So you can show me a full treasury then?”
“Not at this moment.”
The king raised his eyebrows. “Not at this moment? When then?”
“After you have eaten, my king. The food will go cold and the ale warm.”
The king looked as if he might yell but then he burst out laughing. “A feast it is. Get the rest of them in here then.”
He stood up, moving across to the dais as Jock opened the door and waved a servant over. Soon the great hall was a cacophony of noise and smells.
The minstrels played up in the gallery, a jongleur passing between the tables, telling tall tales and performing acrobatic feats for anyone who asked.
Jock sat up on the dais near the king, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Did he know? How could he? Unless Robin had gotten word to him already.
The food was excellent, the cook herself bringing Jock and the king their dishes. She also brought a fresh flagon of ale when Jock’s ran low, pouring it out for him while telling him, “A special brew, my laird. Be sure to let me know how it tastes.”
The king held up his own tankard but as she went to fill it she tripped, spilling the contents of her flagon upon the rushes. “A thousand apologies, your highness,” she said. “I will bring a replacement immediately.”
“A toast,” the king said, “while I wait for a top up. The dregs will do for I have the dregs of my people in front of me. The true fighting men are as we speak preparing to take on the English swine. This man here, Jock MacGregor, may make the difference between victory and defeat. With his help, we will have enough armor to take on ten armies.”
A cheer went up around the room. “To Clan MacGregor,” they all shouted at once.
Jock tried to smile. There was no sign of Daisy. What was he to do? He raised his tankard high with the rest but as he was about to drink, the king turned to him and whispered, “Take me to the treasury now.”
“I cannot,” Jock replied, realizing all was lost.
