She lowered her cup, her countenance glowing with a mother’s love. “Colbán is a handsome lad, with his father’s good looks and—” Laughter shimmered in her eyes. “—also hisstubbornness.”
Stephan grunted. “The willfulness, my lady wife, comes from you.”
At their teasing, the last of Rónán’s tension eased. He’d missed his friends, and would enjoy the time with them until he departed.
A soft knock sounded at the entry.
“Enter,” Stephan said.
The king’s runner stepped inside. “My lord, my lady.” His gaze shifted to Rónán. “King Robert requestsyour presence.”
* * * *
Rónán entered the throne room. Through an arched window, inky swaths of the oncoming night marred the fading shimmers of orange-gold painting the sky. The warm spill of golden light, along with the torches placed inside sconces positioned upon the wall, illuminated the chamber. In a massive stone hearth sparks popped from the fire and swirled within a plume of smoke before disappearing up the chimney.
Stepping onto the plum carpet, he strode toward King Robert, seated upon his throne. Behind him stood intricately carved columns, and stone lions stood positioned discreetly on either side of the platform.
A powerful setting for a formidable monarch, a man who’d gained his loyalty and respect, and, as a fellow Knight Templar, one he would die to protect.
Over a year had passed since Rónán had been part of Stephan’s crew that had sailed to the monarch’s stronghold, Urquhart Castle, and learned the Bruce was part of the Brotherhood. A tie that had proven critical.
King Edward I had gone to great lengths to ensure Scotland was excommunicated. But the religious exclusion secured by the English monarch, and the Scottish clergy’s refusal to acknowledge it, had allowed King Robert to offer all Knights Templar entry into his realm with impunity. A move that had strengthened King Robert’s efforts in reclaiming Scotland’s freedom.
Before the dais, Rónán halted. That the Bruce had made time to see him during the harried preparations for his first parliament revealed the grave natureof the mission.
He bowed, then met his king’s gaze. “I am here as you commanded, Your Grace.”
Shrewd eyes held his. “How fared the contingent you led to aid Sir Cailin?”
“We arrived in time and aided him in overthrowing his uncle and seizing Tiran Castle.” Pride filled him. “And to discover his father, the rightful Earl of Dalkirk, was locked within the dungeon.”
The formidable ruler’s eyes widened. “God in heaven, ’tis a miracle.”
“’Tis.” He handed the king the writ from Cailin. “’Twill explain the events.”
“I thank you.”
“I have more news you may find of interest,” Rónán added, “Sir Cailin has wed Elspet, the stepdaughter of one of your loyal confidants, Sir Angus McReynolds.”
The king’s eyes widened with satisfied delight. “A fine match, one I would have encouraged had I the time.”
Aware of the king’s penchant for matchmaking, and confident the ruler had indeed played a hand in his friend’s marriage,Rónánonly nodded. “Though,” he continued, damning the news he was next to impart, “I regret to inform you that both Sir Angus and Elspet’s mother were murdered duringthese events.”
Anger whipped across the monarch’s face. “Is the bastard who killed them dead?”
“Aye, Your Grace.” He gave a brief explanation of what had occurred.
King Robert blew out a rough exhale and took a moment of silence for their sacrifice. “I will be happy when Lord Comyn accepts me as Scotland’s king and English ambitions to seize our country end. The latter,” he said, his voice dry, “given the young king is far from concerned with issues of war, but a matter of time.”
The Bruce stood, strode to a table, and lifted an elegant glass carafe. Dark amber liquid sloshed inside. Mouth grim, he filled a pair of goblets inlaid with a Celtic weave, a ruby centered between the breaks in thecomplex design.
The king handed him a cup. “The Earl of Sionn has arrived at St Andrews. Unknown to most, he is a trusted Templar supporter and has a large cache of Templar weapons hidden in his realm. Arms I need to force the English from Scotland and quell Lord Comyn’s attempts to seize the throne.”
Which explained the powerful Irish lord’s presence. Rónán took a sip and recognized the potent slide ofuisge beatha, the spirit distilled by the monks of theBorder Abbeys.
“With your expertise in strategy, battlefield experience, and Templar background, you will accompany the earl to his home in Ireland and oversee the transport of the Templar cache to my castle in Aberdeen.”
“Aye, Your Grace.” Blast it, the last thing he’d ever intended was to return to Ireland. There was naught in his homeland he wished to ever see again. Even the nightmares that had haunted him as a child were long since gone. He would find comfort in that his time in Ireland would be short. Nor did he miss the pride in the king’s voice at the mention of the recently captured northern stronghold, boasting an easily accessible seaport to the north. “When do we leave?”
