Page 38 of Dark Side of the Laird
The king was on high alert, it would appear. I’d never been subjected to such scrutiny before.
We rode toward a brazier lit high with logs in the center of the courtyard, and boys from the stables came rushing forward to greet us.
“Disarm,” I issued the order to my men.
We dismounted and worked to remove our weapons, making a pile of them in the center of the horses.
“See that these are put in a safe place, lad, and I’ll see your belly full,” I called to a young man standing to the side. He nodded eagerly, hunger making his cheekbones sharp and eyes wide.
My brother was fond of depriving his servants, preferring they be hungry and needy, grateful for the scraps he might toss their way. His method disgusted me.
“Why’ve ye come so late?” a guard asked, skulking up to us and placing himself in our path to the castle entrance. His eyes held suspicion. He wore a thick cloak of wool and fur, his bushy brows were pressed together in a frown and his beard was long and braided. Whisky flowed from his breath. There was a sneaky look about him that turned my stomach. I supposed the night watchmen were all of a darker sort given they lived without the sun, but this man was treading dangerously close to the edge of my patience.
I cracked my neck and flexed my fists, a silent warning that though I’d put my weapons aside, I was still deadly. “I’ve come to seek an audience with the king. We were close enough I saw no reason to make camp outside the walls.”
The guard grunted, studying me with contempt. I sneered back at him and took several menacing steps forward until we were nearly nose to nose.
“Dinna look at me like I’m the dirt beneath your gutless boots. I’m the Guardian of Scotland and would see ye flogged by my own hand if ye dinna give me the respect I deserve.”
The man swallowed, his lips thinned, but still he said naught. Nor did he move.
I bared my teeth, “Step aside.”
He sucked his tongue over his front teeth as if trying to decide whether or not it would be worth it to get into a brawl with me. Probably the most entertainment he’d have seen that day, if not all week. But if he was smart he would have realized it was a feat he could not win and one he would walk away with more than a few mere bruises from.
Men started to gather around us. Servants, guards, a few drunken lords. Everyone was in a bloodthirsty mood, hoping we’d go at it. A few called jeers, but I ignored them all.
Irritation shot its way through my veins, making my breathing heavier, my fingers itching to curl around his neck. I wantedhimto egg me on, not the crowd. Just to make one move that would have me retaliating. One tempting shift in his gait. I needed the fight. Needed to let out all the frustration building inside me. I’d beat him to a bloody damned pulp.
Maybe that’s why my man Robert said in a low whisper, “My laird,” attempting to pull me from the anger that I so desperately wanted to unleash on this man who dared challenge me.
The guard, perhaps seeing that as his own way out, held up his hands and took a few steps backward. “No need to get your ballocks in a shackle, my laird.”
I straightened, taking in a deep breath that I’d hoped would calm me, but it did not. I was still furious. And I didn’t think that fury would leave me until I knew that Emma was going to be mine for good, Lady Isabella was far north and MacDonald was rotting in his grave.
I stared the man down a few more moments, the tension in the courtyard crackling around us. But I’d more pressing issues than starting a courtyard brawl, as much as I wanted to. I turned from the guard and with a nod of my head, indicated for my men to follow. Upon entering the castle, the men were taken to the barracks to catch a few hours of sleep before the castle bade them rise, and I was given a private chamber on the second floor.
“I wish to see the king first thing in the morning,” I informed the steward who lead me to my lodgings.
The man nodded. “I shall see that he is informed upon his rising. Though I must warn ye, Laird Grant, the king is not well at all.”
I’d noticed him coughing while at Gealach, but summed it up to a case of ague that often hit many in the winter. “Explain,” I said.
“He’s taken to his bed early the past several nights and has been hiding the fact that he’s had a fever. He’s not been himself since the defeat with the English at Solway Moss. His Majesty is much disturbed by the unrest with his uncle. Henry VIII’s break with Rome… The king fears we are all doomed.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Dinna repeat your thoughts to anyone else. They could be the cause of more unrest amongst our people,” I warned. “And the fever, how do ye know this?”
“His gentleman of the chamber has informed me, my laird.”
I nodded. “The king has his pride.”
“Aye, my laird.”
“Has no one sent for the healer?”
The steward shifted his eyes as if expecting someone to come upon us. “I sent for the healer myself, but the king turned the old woman away this evening.”
“I shall talk to him about it in the morning.” Dear God, was the king so far gone that he would refuse assistance from those who could heal him? Did he wish death upon himself? ’Twas not like James at all.
