Edinburgh Castle
Like a lionperched upon a rise, it waited.
Edinburgh Castle had the look of a predator waiting to spring. There was a strength about it, and also comfort, as the beacon of Scots power and protection in a country of turmoil.
Never more so in turmoil than at this moment.
Uilliam mac Eanric, or William, son of Henry, sometimes known as William the Rough or William the Lion, had been the king of Scots for over forty years. Forty years of fighting the English, the Northmen, and sometimes fellow Scots had taken its toll on the man, but he was still standing. He was still strong. There was something to be said for a king who had withstood the pressures of his kingdom for forty years. One would have thought that by this time in his reign, he would have been weary. Old and weary, ready for a new king to assume the throne, but that wasn’t the case.
He was a king ready to expand his kingdom.
However, the latest visitor to Edinburgh had news to the contrary.
Even now, as William entered the great hall of Edinburgh Castle, he could already feel his rage building. He was being escorted by several of his men, courtiers and knights and retainers, men who carried out his wishes and helped him manage his lands. He’d just been summoned by one of them with news that wasn’t particularly good.
Ye must come, yer grace. Something has happened tae Fountainhall Castle.
Fountainhall Castle was a strategic castle on the borders, very close to English properties. William knew of Fountainhall because the lord, Alpin Canmore, was one of his most loyal subjects. An annoying man and a minor player in the grand scheme of things, but loyal nonetheless.
William didn’t like the thought of a border skirmish with the English at this time.
He needed all of his border lords at full strength for what was to come.
Seated at one of the enormous scrubbed tables in the great hall, surrounded by both men and wandering dogs, sat a man with his right hand bandaged and bloodied. As William and his entourage approached the table, William took a good look at the man but he didn’t recognize him.
He looked as if he’d been through hell.
That brought concern.
“I dunna know ye,” he said as he came upon the table. “Who are ye?”
The man was pale and weak, clearly exhausted, but he tried to stand up. “I’ve come for the king,” he said. “I willna speak tae anyone else. I have a message for him.”
There were so many men crowded around the table and around the man that William had to shove a couple away in order to get at him.
“Do ye no’ know me on sight?” he asked.
The man eyed him before looking at the retinue around him. His gaze returned to the big, strong-looking old man whose hair in his youth had been red and wavy. Now, it was gray and bristly. A little wild, even.
He shook his head.
“Who are ye?”
“I am the one ye seek,” William said simply, planting himself in the chair at the end of the table. “What’s this about Fountainhall? And what message do ye have?”
The man with the bandaged hand realized the king was sitting next to him and, for some reason, that seemed to bring out his fear. He’d been strong enough until the king appeared, and now he simply felt fearful.
He began to tremble.
“Yer grace,” he said. “The message comes from Ajax de Velt.”
That brought a reaction from William and most of his entourage. What had been a mildly concerning situation just turned critical.
The mention of Ajax de Velt, The Dark Lord, made any situation critical.
“De Velt?” he repeated in surprise. Then, he looked at the men around him as if to confirm they’d all heard the same thing before returning his focus to the man. “I know that name.”
“Ye should, yer grace,” the bloodied man said. “Most people know of the Sassenach who burned half the borders and killed entire armies many years ago. ’Tis the same man.”
