go on a journey, especially if it meant rubbing elbows with an entire priory full of nuns.
Lamberton shook James’ hand. “God is with you, my son.”
“Perhaps,” he said a bit too gruffly. Aye, he needed to exercise patience, but God had not seen fit to gift him with such a virtue.
When James next looked to the crowd, King Bruce and the guests were already heading for the great hall inside the walls of Scone Abbey. He started after them, craning his neck and searching for the sable-haired lass. Alas, she was nowhere to be seen.
***
The reward for this evening’s heroism was the honor of foregoing the festivities, keeping vigil behind the king and acting as his man-at-arms. But James wasn’t the only one. Boyd had been granted the honor as well, most likely because they were the two largest knights, and Robert the Bruce’s coronation hadn’t even ended before an attempt was made on his life.
As the scent of roasted meat wafted through the hall, James couldn’t decide whose stomach was growling the loudest. Most likely Boyd’s. Certainly, James wouldn’t own to any weakness.
His needs mattered not when he was assigned such an important task.
An honor.
And he’d starve amongst a hundred succulent legs of lamb if it pleased the king. He’d ignore the laughter filling the hall. He’d ignore the music and the dancing. He’d even ignore the sable-haired lass sitting with a woman wearing a nun’s habit at the table near the far wall.
Lamberton was right as the elderly bishop oft was—James had no time for women. Perhaps he’d been billeted to accompany a female southward, but he’d perform his duty posthaste and then amass his army. In truth, the assignment was but a small pain in the arse. His clansmen were to the south, just not as near the border as Lincluden.
“You’re twitching like a tick on a sow’s arse,” Boyd growled in his ear.
James snorted. If anyone could give a good rib it was the man on his right. “Och, a deaf mute would be on edge with the floor-shaking rumbles coming from your cavernous maw,” he countered out of the corner of his mouth.
“Aye,” Boyd surprisingly agreed. “I missed my nooning and was still riding for Scone come dawn. Haven’t slept in two days, either.”
“’Tis amazing you were able to bow your head and receive your spurs without falling on the Bruce’s feet.”
“I wouldn’t have missed this day for a king’s fortune.”
“Nor I.”
“’Twas a bloody gallant act of bravery I witnessed this eve.” Boyd snickered. “Had you not run the bastard through, I might have thought you’d staged it.”
“Never.” The corner of James’ mouth ticked up. “And thanks for the compliment.”
“Just let me have a swing the next time. I could stand to be in the king’s good graces.”
“Now you’re dreaming.”
Boyd gave James a prod with his elbow, but when Lamberton snapped his fingers, they both jolted back into their roles of expressionless henchmen. At least James felt a bit more at ease within the walls of the abbey than he had out in the open upon Moot Hill. With he and Boyd standing shoulder to shoulder, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords, an assassin would have to be completely mad to make an attempt on the Bruce’s life at the moment.
As the night wore on, the laughter grew more boisterous while the tankards of ale and goblets of wine emptied and refilled.
Well after the tables had been moved for the dancing, Boyd again prodded James with his elbow. “Look who’s dancing with Campbell. Isn’t that the lass you were ogling at the crowning?”
“Bloody hell.” James gulped as he watched Arthur Campbell place a hand on the waist of the loveliest lass in the hall—the girl with the sable hair, of course. “Campbell has always had a way of turning ladies’ heads, the bastard.”
“If that’s the case, then why is he not yet wed?”
Clenching fist, James shrugged. “Lucky, I’d reckon.”
“Luckier than either of us.”
“Nay, the pair of us are standing behind Robert the Bruce,” said James, even though his stomach was roiling, and not from hunger.
“Do you fancy her as well?” he asked, his eyes transfixed on the woman as her silken tresses swung about her hips, her movement as graceful as a doe lightly stepping through the forest. Everything about her was perfect—except she kept looking at Campbell and smiling. If only she knew the knight’s sole purpose in his feigned kindness was to raise her skirts.
“Not likely,” Boyd replied, pulling James