Page 59 of Torin and the Two Crowns

“I honestly don’t know, Sire, I was raised away from the kingdom and have only just returned⁠—”

Torin said, “Her uncles only spoke of fighting Rannald, I spent a short time in their battle camp, we held no war counsels. There were no other wars that they spoke of, though it might not have been in the forefront of their minds.”

I added, “Rannald was a very big threat.”

The king looked thoughtful. “If yer kingdom is unscathed by the scourge of the Saracens, ye are verra fortunate. Tis always at the front of my mind. When I was a younger man I wanted tae go on the crusades — God’s enemies must be vanquished.”

Torin asked, “Then why daena ye go, Sire? Ye are king. Ye could raise a company and sail. What keeps ye here?”

The king’s mouth tightened. “Scotland is not yet whole. The English still hold many of our castles. My wife and daughter are still in their hands. Until this kingdom is secure I canna leave it. A king who rides tae the Holy Land while his own land is unfinished leaves the work half-done. When Scotland is free, then I will go, God willing.”

Torin nodded once, as if that answer satisfied him. He glanced at me and gave a small tilt of his head — enough to tell me I had handled it well and giving me courage to go on.

I nodded, though the talk of Saracens and holy wars was beyond my knowledge of history. I picked up the mug and drank again, then picked up a hunk of bread and chewed, then put down what was left even though my whole body was yelling at me for more.

The king focused on our belongings on the table. “While this explanation explains the crest on yer sack,” he gestured toward the leather bag, “nothing that ye hae said explains these.” He poked the small pile of pens, setting one rolling across the table.

I picked it up. “First, Sire, as the Princess of Riaghalbane, daughter of King Normond, sister of King Maximillian, I would like to make a deal, a treaty. I will give you some of this gear, in exchange for allowing us to leave.” I had been brave, even bold.

He raised his brow. “Tis valuable? I see a sack of coin, the rest of this…?”

“This is much more valuable.” I clicked the bottom of the pen, dragged the notebook over, flipped to a clean page, leaned on the table, and wrote:

The Treaty Between Robert the Bruce and Alexandria of Riaghalbane.

While Bruce, Niall, and the King leaned forward and watched.

The pressure was immense.

“What year is it?”

“Tis the year of our Lord, one thousand, three hundred and eight.”

I swiped at the damp hair on my forehead with my wrist and wrote the year under it:

1308

Trying to keep my handwriting clear and steady and fine like my fourth grade teacher had drilled into me. “This is important,” she would say, why? “Because someday you might have to write a letter to the queen!”