“Fetch a surgeon,” Henry said to his captain. “And bring food and wine for the boy.”
Sin looked up in shock of the order. Part of him still expected the king to hang him. At the very least beat him. That was all he was fit for.
That and killing.
King Henry tsked at him. “Don’t looked so surprised, boy.Come the morrow, we shall see you home.”
Home. The vague, illusive dream of that word had haunted him his entire life. It was all he’d ever wanted. A home where he could be welcomed, a people who would accept him.
His father had thrown him out of Scotland where no one had ever wanted him, and the Saracens had spurned and spat on him in Outremer. But maybe this time when he went to England the people there might want him.
Maybe this time, he would at last find the home he had ached for.
Aye, in England, he would find peace.
One
London, Twelve years later
“I would sooner geld myself. Drunk. With a dull knife,” Sin spoke with a slow, deadly emphasis on each word.
King Henry II stood a few feet away from him without the protection of a bodyguard or other courtier. They were alone in the throne room and no doubt any other man would be cowering before his monarch. But Sin had never cowered in his life, and Henry knew better than to expect such behavior from him now.
Still, Henry’s face hardened. “I could command it of you.”
Sin cocked one arrogant brow and asked, “Then why don’t you?”
Henry smiled at that, and the tenseness left his body as he closed the distance between them.
Their friendship had been forged years ago, in the dark of night, and at the end of a blade pressed deep against Henry’s throat. Sin had spared the king’s life and since that day, Henry had treasured the only man who had never been awed by his power or authority.
Sin answered to no man, be he king, pope, sultan or beggar. But then, there was nothing in life that awed Sin. Nothing in life that commanded him or touched him. He was completely alone.
And he preferred it that way.
“I didn’t gain this throne by being a fool, Sin. Should I command you to it, I know precisely what you’d do. You’d turn your back on me, and head straight for yon door.” Henry regarded him sincerely. “God’s truth, you are the only man alive I never wish to make my enemy. ‘Tis why I ask this as a friend.”
“Damn you.”
Henry laughed. “If I am damned, it is certainly for more serious offenses than this matter.” The humor left face and he stared straight into Sin’s eyes. “Now then, as a friend, I ask again. Will you marry the Scotswoman?”
Sin didn’t answer. He clenched his teeth so tightly that he could feel the angry tic starting in his jaw.
“Come now, Sin,” Henry said with an almost pleading note in his voice. “I need you in this matter. You know the Scots. You are one of them.”
“I’m not a Scot,” Sin snarled. “Not now. Not ever.”
Henry ignored his rebuff. “You know how they think, you know their language. You, alone, are capable of this. Should I send another, those bloodthirsty savages would no doubt cut his throat and send his head back to me.”
“And you think they wouldn’t do it to me?”
Henry laughed. “I doubt if the Archangel Michael could cut your throat unless you consented to it.”
Truer words had never been spoken. Still, this favor sat ill in Sin’s gut. The last thing on earth he desired was to be shackled to the Scots. He hated everything to do with Scotland and its people, and would sooner rot with pestilence than ever put one piece of his body in Scotland.
“I promise, my reward will be great,” Henry said.
“I have no need of your money or rewards.”
