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“If I entered a castle and found the laird sitting at a table in the courtyard near the gate, eatin’ a leg of lamb, I would think, ‘Och nae, he is weak, he canna even eat in peace, he must be sitting there at the work of fillin’ his needs in front of the guests!’”

“But in the Great Hall, it’s different?”

“Aye, then I nod, he nods, we both ken we are about tae eat. We call a truce of wills. We winna do any challengin’ while eatin’. We will allow the meal tae commence without trouble. Tis civilized.”

“Very.”

We came to the door. He said, “We need tae be verra careful that we daena expose yer royal lineage, especially nae tae a king when ye are in his lands uninvited.”

I said, “I agree, but when they were in our room you slipped up and called me princess.”

“Och nae, I was out of m’mind. I am glad the king inna real.”

11

ALEXANDRIA

1308 - WE MEET ROBERT THE BRUCE, BLACK DOUGLAS, AND NIALL CAMPBELL

We walked through the door to the hall to see the man who had called himself a king, chewing a hunk of bread. Two nights ago he had looked tall and important, a leader, broad-shouldered, dark hair greying a little at the temples, his face set in the careful lines of a man who had been at war. But as Torin had pointed out, now he looked to be caught unaware, hunched over a bowl, a little worn.

Torin’s brow raised “See it?”

I nodded.

The three men at the end of the long table looked up, and the king waved us over.

It was then I noticed the silence of the rest of the Hall, beyond the usual monastery silence, this was a kind of a heavy silence. Monks were gaping at me.

I muttered under my breath, “Clearly, I’m where I’m not wanted.”

“Ye are the only lady in the whole place. I wish I had worn my sword.”

Douglas stood. “Please introduce yer wife, Torin…”

Torin said, “This is… Lady Alexandria.”

The king nodded and without standing announced, “The Lady Alexandria has been asked tae sit at my table. She is welcome in the Dining Hall.”

He gestured for us to sit on the bench across the table from him, beside the ginger-haired man, who kept staring, again.

Torin moved carefully, climbing over the bench, every shift of his shoulder causing him a wince or a sharp inhale. He looked pale in the torchlight, but his back was straight as he made sure to sit between the ginger man and me. We finally settled and mugs of ale were delivered to us. The wood was hard under my butt. I missed soft upholstered chairs. The air was thick with woodsmoke, roasted meat, and the quiet of many men who had taken a vow of silence.

During their stressful intrusion into our room, I hadn’t really had the wherewithal to look at them. Douglas was lean and hard, wiry dark hair, a long dark beard, sharp-eyed and restless. His gaze was intense, his mood edgy. The kind of man who liked a bar room brawl. “Ye look better, Torin, than we saw ye last.”

“Aye, I feel markedly better, and ye daena look as much an apparition. I thought ye were one. I couldna accept that a group of men had entered m’chamber while I was in the healing slumber.”

Douglas raised his brow. “We are not any ‘men’. This is yer king.”

Torin nodded toward the king. “Aye, Sire, but m’audience with m’king is usually when I am clothed.”

The king was the taller of the three, and had a quiet authority that did not need to raise its voice. His beard was cut short. Everything about him, from the set of his shoulders to the measured way he watched us, said king — a king who had learned not to smile until he was certain. He was watching Torin over a piece of bread, then he placed it down and said, offhandedly, “I hae never met ye.”

Torin said, “I ken, Sire, tis m’first time introduced tae ye…”

“Ye said, ‘my audience with my king is usually’ when ye are clothed…? I am yer only king, am I nae? ”

“Och, I meant… tis a turn of phrase…”