Page 20

“Torin, I went out, you told me not to, but I did, men are coming… Torin, they're right outside.”

His eyes opened with a jolt. He raised his head and looked around, and spluttered, “Huh…och… nae.” He weakly shoved the covers off of his legs and sat up, his top half weaving. Then he groaned as he struggled to stand. Completely naked.

The door was shoved open.

Three men stood there, staring in. Then the tall one stepped inside without being invited, rain still on his shoulders, the set of his mouth careful and tired. “Och nae man, ye are unclothed.”

The lean younger man with the dark wiry hair grabbed a blanket from the chair and tossed it at Torin’s chest. “Clothe yerself before the king!”

Of course Torin couldn’t pick it up. He tugged at his earlobe, trying to stand on weak legs and shaky knees. “Mo leannan, come tae m’side…”

I crossed the room in two quick strides, picked up the blanket, and wrapped it around his waist, tucking it in the back. He looked terrible, like he might crumple to the floor.

The tall man said, “Identify yerself, man.”

“Nae, tis my chamber… Ye are intrudin’ on my privacy... disturbing m’wife in the night. Identify yerself.”

The younger man nodded toward him, bold and direct. “Ye stand before the King, by the grace of God. Robert, King of Scots. Lower yer eyes. I am Sir James Douglas. We come on the King’s business — we want word of any who passed this way after Dunstaffnage tae account for the battle there. Now name yerself.”

Torin gasped out, “Torin…”

Douglas said, “I demand an answer, were ye involved in the assault on Dunstaffnage?”

Torin muttered, “Och nae.”

Meanwhile the ginger man stood a little back, freckled, square-jawed, his scarred hands still at his sides, staring at me with his brow drawn down. It was all disconcerting.

Torin swayed.

The king said, “Where dost ye hail from, Torin?”

I said, “Please, he’s not well⁠—”

Torin shot me a look. He took in a deep ragged breath and raised himself to his full height. “I am Torin, from Castle Glume.”

The men looked at each other, and the ginger man asked, “Where is Castle Glume, I haena heard of it?”

“In Clackmannanshire, ye ken… between the Burn of Care and the Burn of Sorrow⁠—”

The ginger man looked at me inquisitively. “Ye are a Campbell?”

Torin swayed a bit but kept his eyes straight ahead. “This is m’wife ye are addressin’, and starin’ upon…”

The ginger man drew his eyes away.

The king asked, “Were ye involved with the assault upon Dunstaffnage? Answer yer king.”

Torin’s eyes were unfocused, like he would faint. “…what… did ye say?”

“I said tae answer yer king.”

“I daena… ye hae stormed intae m’bed chamber… twas procured with coin… invaded my privacy, and frightened m’lady…”

I stood behind his shoulder, peering around his arm at the three men, when he swayed, dangerously. I grasped his arm to steady him.

The king said, “Ye may sit, Torin, ye look about tae fall.”

“Nae, Sire, I canna sit, ye hae barged intae m’chambers.” Out of his mind, his good hand groped near his hip as if some magical sword had appeared there.