“But, Sire—” the messenger started.
“Go now,” the king ordered in a voice edged with menace. “There is nae any more left to say.”
“Yes, Sire.” The messenger bowed, but when he came up, he took a deep breath and said, “Begging yer forgiveness, but the Campbell wished me to tell ye once more that his son Findlay wishes his beloved wife, Lena, returned to him.”
Graham scoffed, as did Iain, Lachlan, and Cameron.
“I’ve nae forgotten his request,” the king replied. “Now leave.”
As Graham watched the messenger depart, he could feel Isobel trembling beside him.
The king swept a dark look around the room. “Did ye notice the messenger did nae offer the names of my enemies? The Campbell is biding his time, as I am mine. He’s not desperate enough yet to actually give up the names of his coconspirators, but by the saints, he will be! I am nae a fool!” King David seethed.
David paced back and forth for a long minute before speaking again. “The Campbell must think me a fool to have sent that messenger with his request!” The king pounded his fist upon the table. “Heis the fool to imagine he could openly try to take the castle of one of my allies.” The king smacked his chest with his palm. The sound reverberated around the tensely quiet room. “Why does he believe me weak?” The king roared, his burning gaze moving over all in the room.
Graham had seen King David like this months before when talking of the conspiracy he believed his nephew, the Steward, had instigated with other nobles to take David’s throne. It was best to stay silent in this situation and let the king speak his frustration.
The king dismounted the dais in several pounding steps, and as he did, Isobel drew so close to Graham that the length of their arms and legs touched. Her trembling had grown worse. Discreetly, he took her hand and squeezed, then quickly released it before someone noticed. But as he did, Iain’s hard stare caught his attention. His brother raised a questioning eyebrow at him, and Graham had the sense that Iain somehow knew he was battling feelings of some sort for Isobel.
The king stopped in front of Isobel, and Graham had to muster great restraint not to move in front of her.
“Isobel Campbell,” the king said, “do ye ken who yer father hoped ye to marry?”
Isobel glanced immediately at Graham, biting on her lip, and he realized with a start that she did know something. He nodded at her to tell the king, and when she spoke, he exhaled a rough breath, only then realizing how important it had been to him that she willingly share what she knew. It showed she trusted him and truly was not loyal to her father.
Isobel licked her lips. “I was to marry the Earl of March’s son, James.”
Graham blanched at the news. It would be an utter atrocity to marry Isobel to a man such as James of Dunbar. Not only was he a sadistic man but he had no love of women. If rumors were to be believed, he actually held an extreme dislike of them.
“Ah,” the king said, interrupting Graham’s thoughts. David’s lips twisted with scorn. “We add another supposedly faithful subject to the conspiracy against me. Of course yer father wishes to wed ye to gain Brigid, and the man ye marry must be of a powerful family to help yer father in his quest for my throne. This is nae a surprise,” he continued. “Yer father and the Earl of March make dangerous allies, and I kinnae allow that. Do ye ken why, Isobel?”
“Nay, Sire,” she replied in a firm voice that made Graham oddly proud. “I dunnae hardly ken my father. I believed I did, but I recently came to learn what I thought I kenned was a lie.”
The king nodded, his expression softening. “We often convince ourselves of lies when the truth is clear to see, if we would just look.”
Graham studied David. The lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened since last he had seen the king. He seemed more withdrawn and more guarded now, as if he himself was uncertain whom he could trust. Unease entered Graham’s mind like a dark cloud. Was the king questioning trusting the MacLeods or others?
The king took a deep breath. “Did ye ken I was imprisoned for a great many years?”
“Aye, Sire,” Isobel answered. “Sister Mary bid us pray daily for yer safe return.”
“She sounds like a verra good nun,” David replied, and Graham watched Isobel, wondering if she would take the easy yet deceitful route and simply agree with the king, or if she would tell the truth and risk the king’s anger for her daring to disagree with him.
Isobel shifted from foot to foot before speaking. “I dunnae mean to be contrary,” she said slowly, “but she is a cruel woman, though clearly praying for ye was wise.”
The king chuckled. “A verra good answer, Isobel.”
Graham could not have agreed more. Isobel was beautiful, smart, and had proven just now that she had a silver tongue for speech—an important quality in a woman who would be wed to a man who commanded many warriors.
“In my absence,” the king said, “men like yer father—great men—joined together to rule Scotland and keep it safe. They guarded it while I was imprisoned by putting a puppet king onmythrone.” The king’s voice dropped low and intense. “One of the great nobles they rallied behind was none other than my nephew, Robert Stewart, Earl of Strathearne.”
“I have heard talk of the Steward,” Isobel dutifully answered.
“My nephew, yer father, and the Earl of March together ruled Scotland. And I am grateful. Dunnae mistake that.”
“Nay, Your Grace. I would nae ever mistake yer obvious thankfulness.”
Her large blue eyes looked so earnest that Graham could not tell if she was being genuine or not.
