Page 138 of The Daughters of Avalon
“This time,” interjected the earl of Moray.
“Shut your gob, fitz Duncan!”
Uncowed, Malcom met de Moray’s gaze and said, “I have given my sword to Scotia, and I will honor my pledge for the rest of my days.” He turned to the king. “Your Grace, would you leave Aldergh without protection, or have me arm bricklayers and quarrymen?”
“Nay,” said the king, waving a hand for peace.
“And yettheseare the men I would pledge to my lord of Warkworth, not my warriors.”
The king conceded. “Yeah, times are not so dire as to send bricklayers into the field—have it your way.”
As much as he would like to cede, Giles was forced to disagree. “Do not mistake me, Your Grace. Times, indeed, are so dire…”
Very slowly, the king’s eyes slid back to Giles, his gaze narrowing, “Speak,” he demanded.
Giles shook his head again. “I will not speak aloud what I know, lest you lock me in a tower and call me a madman. And even so, I would advise you to gird your loins.”
“Gird his loins?” wailed de Moray, in protest, clearly not comprehending his cautionary words.
“He means prepare for war, eegit,” said David.
Giles ignored the man. “And nevertheless, Your Grace, I do not need a grant of men. I need stone… and for this I pledge you my word of honor I’ll not join any campaign to wrest the lands you already possess.”
The king’s eyes glittered fiercely. “What of Warkworth?”
“Again, Warkworth is not mine to barter.”
“Itisyours,” argued the lord of Bamburgh.
“In name,” returned Giles. “My true oath and my sword belong to the Church, as your king knows.”
David mac Maíl Choluim’s gaze fell to the sword hilt that peeked above the table, a sword that, even now, glowed very faintly with some unnatural light. There were twelve menpresent at David’s table—and how prophetic that the king of Scotia should have his own Judas. Alas, there was only one way to ferret out a traitor, and so he said, “The Church means to see Duke Henry on his grandfather’s throne, and I will do my part to bring that to fruition.”
Giles’s canny dark eyes scanned the entire table, from the lord of Bamburgh to the earl of Moray, looking for any telltale sign of the betrayer. Unfortunately, the man did not make himself known, and yet, if the sword spoke true, at least one of these allies would carry this news to Stephen, and the Church would know his name.
Perhaps not entirely surprised, David put a hand to his chin, rubbing softly. “Duke Henry?” he said.
“Aye, Your Grace. He is favored above his mother, and should his foray into Wiltshire have proven successful, he might already have been granted an army.”
“And it was not?”
It was phrased as a question, but they already knew what came of that campaign, and for the most part, it came to naught. Giles lifted a shoulder. “His courage did not go unnoticed.”
“He has what it takes. His grandmother would have been proud,” the king said, sounding maudlin, and it seemed, for an instant, that he lingered in some faraway place. Finally, he declared, “The stone is yours, so long as you pay its rightful lord. If you have a bargain, who am I to contend?”
And still, there was one more matter to be discussed… this one with the lord of Aldergh. “One more thing…”
The king lifted his grey-peppered brows.
“As part of my bargain with Stephen, I am pledged to wed one of Henry’s daughters…” He turned his gaze toward Malcom Scott. “Seren Pendragon.”
Malcom’s brows collided. “My wife’s sister?”
Giles nodded, and once again, David waved a hand in dismissal. “Why should any of that concern this council?”
“Because… I would wed another in her stead… her sister… Rosalynde Pendragon.”
The king looked confused. “Are these not both Morwen’s daughters?”
